


Diplomatic Immunity

by archaeologist_d



Series: Diplomatic Immunity [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:45:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has come to Camelot to act as an envoy between the magic users and the new High King, Arthur Pendragon. Four years ago, Nimueh had twisted the truth, making Arthur think Merlin was in league with her. That Arthur is unhappy to see him again is an understatement.</p><p>Sequel to Conversations with a Sorceress; 4 years after Series 1, episode 12. Episode 13 did not happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is authorised for AO3 only. No other site is to use it without my explicit written permission.

_Four years_.

The castle hadn't changed much, at least from a distance. Framed in green-leafed glory, gleaming in the bright summer air, its white limestone walls were a luminous mixture of carved turrets and curved lines, of soaring walls and sparkling roofs. Even the red flags whipping lightly in the wind added a touch of vivid color to the scene.

It looked beautiful, an example of all that was good and just in the world.

Sad how easily appearances could deceive.

His throat rough with longing, Merlin stood there, looking at the bitter remnants of boyish dreams. Remembered the first time he'd seen the castle all those years ago, his hopes high that Camelot would be the place where he could finally fit in. Remembered picnics and hunts in these woods with friends and amused knights trailing the prince, remembered Arthur's sarcastic digs at Merlin's clumsy efforts at manservanting. Remembered giving back jest for jest and laughing together, warmth and acceptance in the mocking words and traded insults.

Remembered the last time he'd seen Arthur. The look of betrayal in his eyes, the way Arthur's friendship had turned into hatred so easily. The way the sword dipped toward Merlin's head and the absolute certainty that Arthur would have killed him if Nimueh hadn't interfered.

Remembered how one word could change everything.

 _Sorcerer_.

Even after four years, a thousand lifetimes past, it still hurt to know how much Arthur could despise him for what he was, for what he could not change. Sorcerer or clumsy idiot, he was still Merlin.

But it hadn't been enough.

He stood there, staring out into the distance, half-lost in memories. By the time his horse had grown impatient for more than just grass and started to push at him with a soft nose, the light was mostly gone, Camelot already shadowed. Above his head, there was a shiver of leaves in the evening wind.

Merlin adjusted his cloak and pulled himself up into the saddle, nudged his horse down the slope toward the castle.

The past was the past. It was time to push aside what had gone on before and focus on his mission. And try not to grieve for what could not be.

* * *

Deceptive, how distance could mask the color of soot and the smell of death.

The guards hadn't stopped his approach. Merlin supposed the rich clothes he wore and the glint of gold at his wrists and throat gave them the mistaken idea that he was nobility, a misstep on their part that he wasn't willing to correct. They certainly didn't recognize the bumbling manservant of four years ago.

Merlin had a moment of pity for them. Arthur would not be pleased that he could get past his security forces so easily and they would likely be punished in some way. In the past, in times of peace, they might have been fined or put in the stocks, or if the king had been in a foul mood, flogged but never more than that.

Now, he wasn't so sure. More recent tales of Uther's ruthlessness had reached even the Isle of the Blessed and his son was often seen standing beside him. It would seem that Arthur had changed in the years since Merlin had last talked with him and not for the better.

But it was no matter. Besides, the guards would not have stood against him anyway. His powers had grown stronger and now it was unbearably easy to confuse people into forgetfulness. Even the great Arthur Pendragon himself would not have stood against him – if Merlin so wished it.

Of course, that kind of magic had consequences and he preferred to stay away from the darker arts. Better to use persuasion to get what he wanted. It tended to last longer, too.

He just hoped that Arthur would accept the situation. The thought of using magic against him – well, it did not bear thinking, not even after all these years.

* * *

The courtyard was deserted when he arrived. There was a hint of ash in the air and the lingering odour of charred meat; in the far corner the decaying remnants of a burnt pyre, a few days old, was a soiled stain on the cobblestones. High above, the strains of music and forced laughter echoed, sweeping down through the balustrades and curved arches, over walls once beautiful but now fouled with soot. There was lute song and the lilt of flutes coming from an open window but under it all, Merlin could still hear the silent screams of the murdered dead and pleas for a mercy that would never come.

He shook himself free of it. He needed to focus on his mission and he could not change the past, only the future – he hoped.

Apparently, the coronation feast was still going on. Merlin nodded to himself. It would make things that much easier. Arthur, or rather newly crowned King Arthur, would have royal guests and emissaries from lands near and far. One more would not be noticed.

He slipped easily into the crowd. Courtiers and lesser kings, ladies and fools, were all dressed in the colors of their station, peacocks in the candlelight, a bright cacophony of color. There were armored knights milling about, too, and guards, suspiciously relaxed, but with eyes roving the crowd for potential threats.

Merlin ignored them all. He had eyes for one man and one man only.

At the far end of the room, Arthur Pendragon, newly made High King of Camelot, was sitting alone on a resplendent throne of gold and intricately embroidered red velvet. He, too, was clothed in red, the lines of his outfit chased in bullion and garnets, a cloak lined in white fur tossed carelessly aside. He wore the official crown of Camelot and it looked heavy and uncomfortable but Arthur didn't seem to be aware of the burden. Indeed, he sat there, listening with a slight frown to a well-dressed noble whispering into his ear.

In the four years since he'd last seen Arthur, he'd dreamed of this moment, of welcome arms and apologies. Of acceptance and the rekindling of friendship. But as he looked closer at the man who had once been his destiny, he hardly recognized him.

Still golden-haired, still broad-shouldered and strikingly handsome, there was a hardness about his mouth and in the lines on his face. His eyes were hooded but, even as he appeared to be nodding to some story, he scanned the crowd constantly, searching. He looked dangerous, a wolf. No young bully looking for easy prey but an unyielding warrior king.

Merlin's heart was beating hard and fast and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. This was so much more difficult than he'd imagined. They should have sent someone else, Nimueh maybe or perhaps someone Arthur didn't know, Taliesin or one of the Druids. This wasn't going to work. There was too much between them, too much history, too many memories, too much…

With the beginnings of misery, he turned away, tears pricking his eyes, and looked to find a way to leave before he was noticed.

But one part of his life had not changed; he'd often thought that the gods were mocking him - balancing his enormous power with a gift of two left feet. Clumsy clod that he was, he tripped slightly, straight into the arms of Arthur's old manservant, Morris.

The other man started to bow, mumbling something about being sorry and forgiving his clumsiness and to please not tell his master. But as he was going through the litany of apologies, Morris glanced up, blanching when he recognized him. "Merlin?"

There was nothing to do but nod. The gods were indeed having a good laugh at his expense. Morris had always been grateful to Merlin for his actions that day in Camelot when he'd rescued the man from Arthur's torment; they'd struck up a friendship then and there, and over the year or so Merlin had been in service, they'd often compare notes, having good laughs about the nobility and their peculiar ways. So of course, he'd stumble over one of the few people left in Camelot who would recognize him.

Keeping his back to Arthur, he said softly, "Yes, I've returned to court."

Morris sent another glance toward the knot of hangers-on around the king and leaned in, began brushing at Merlin's tunics, looking for all the world as if he were cleaning off something he'd spilled. "You have to leave before he realizes you're here. Said that if you ever set foot in Camelot, you would be executed. That you were a traitor." He looked anxious, almost distraught. "It's too dangerous."

"Don't worry." Catching Morris's hand, he sent him a reassuring smile and then let him go. "Arthur won't hurt me. He can't."

The manservant only grew more agitated. "He changed after you left. He's not the same man. He's…"

"Morris, it will be all right. Trust me." Merlin clapped one hand on his shoulder, trying to calm the man down. "I want to thank you for being my friend while I was here. It made things a lot easier."

"It made things a lot harder when you left." Morris sent a furtive glance toward Arthur. "He interrogated anyone who had befriended you. Started arguing a lot with the knights. He had a huge fight with the Lady Morgana and she left. Gwen, too. Even the court physician, Gaius, left after a few months. Claimed he was retiring but I didn't believe him. Something wasn't right." He shook his head, puzzled. "What happened? Why did you leave?"

"Not my choice." Merlin shuddered at the memory of Arthur's eyes, so cold, so betrayed, so filled with rage that he was willing to kill without a single thought. He pushed aside the horror of it, trying to find some measure of calm. He'd need it soon enough. "It was never really my choice to leave."

"Well, you…" Morris stopped suddenly, bowing again as he hissed out, "He's looking this way. I better go." And he turned, pushing himself through a crowd of people and out the side door before Merlin could thank him.

He'd forgotten what it was like to be a servant and dependent on the will of your master. Not that he would have let Arthur get away with it. But there was something in Morris's voice that didn't sit well with him, nagged at him, filled him with unease. At least now, the courage that had brought him here returned in full measure.

Now it wasn't enough that Merlin had a mission for his people. He wanted to find the man to whom he'd pledged his service all those years ago and bring him back, find the man hidden beneath the wolf's mask: the endearing prat, the jokester, the compassionate prince, his friend, Arthur Pendragon.

* * *

He'd managed to avoid Arthur's eyes long enough. Now that the pledges of fealty by the nobles of the realm had been completed - all the pomp and ritual of endless privilege that had once angered Merlin and now just saddened him, the envoys from other nearby kingdoms were beginning to line up, to produce gifts and promises to the new king.

Merlin had seen something similar in the year he'd been with Arthur. Uther Pendragon had kept a strong control over his restless nobles, bringing them to Camelot after the harvest for tax payments and discussion of problems within and outside the kingdom. It was a way of measuring their loyalty and dispersing favors among those who had pleased him over the previous year.

Arthur was merely continuing the tradition.

But now that there was a new king, the diplomats probably saw an opportunity to change treaties, perhaps make new alliances and break old ones. Like strutting peacocks, clad in brilliantly colored tunics and fur, woven gold and vivid jewels glittering in the candlelight, they wove a net around the king, crowding him with requests. Their voices were loud, insistent. As they jostled and pushed their way forward, elbowing into what they must have considered their proper position in the hierarchy of kingdoms, Merlin could only see that Arthur was getting angrier by the moment.

In the days when they were still friends, he'd have been able to find some way to ease Arthur's spirit, make him smile – a clumsy stumble here, a glass of wine spilled down Merlin's shirt there, a quick grin to lighten the moment, even wearing that dreadful hat now and again.

Now he could only do what he must and be an envoy for his people.

In the center of that long, beautiful room, he stood - alone, tall and silent, waiting for Arthur to see him there. His blue cloak pushed back in neat folds, his tunic rich linen, the glint of a gold torc at his neck and bands of chased enamel and gold at his wrists. He'd argued against such finery but Taliesin had reminded him that he was representing them at a court which understood power, even the power of outward appearances. So there he stood, in clothes too rich for Merlin of Ealdor but befitting the emissary for the combined forces of the Druids and sorcerers of the Old Religion.

Their eyes met.

Arthur had been speaking but abruptly he stilled, staring at him with an unreadable expression, ignoring everything and everyone around him. Merlin could feel the weight of that stony regard, taste the beginnings of frost, of lightning in the air. It was the breathless moment before battle.

Merlin wanted so much to hear words of forgiveness and welcome, to see Arthur grinning and calling him an idiot, to know that they'd found each other again. Begged the gods for it. Instead, what he got was fury.

"You!"

Standing up suddenly, Arthur shoved aside all the hangers-on and diplomatic couriers that had plagued him and looked around wildly for his sword. Finding none but ceremonial trash, he grabbed one of the knight's blades and began striding down toward him, murder in his eyes.

Merlin bowed low, and then straightened. "Your Majesty, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, greetings. I have come before you to request an audience to discuss a treaty between your people and mine." Even to his ears, he sounded cool and calm, reciting the practiced words with ease. Unlike Merlin the bumbler, Merlin the inept, Merlin the worst manservant Arthur ever had.

But he might as well have been spouting nonsense for all Arthur paid attention. The king just kept coming, his court scattering out of his way as he shoved past them. His knights were a knot of red cloaks and drawn steel behind him.

By the time Arthur reached him, Merlin was already moving, slowing down time and avoiding Arthur's first swing with ease. When time began flowing again, he was standing off to one side. Watching Arthur twist around, looking for him, the new king frowning as if he wanted to tear him apart, Merlin said carefully, neutrally, "Sire, do you really want to do this in front of the whole court?"

Arthur was in no mood to be reasoned with and he tried again, his sword slicing through the space Merlin's chest would have been had he remained still.

It was easy enough to evade the steel blade. Merlin used time and his gifts to move elsewhere, away from Arthur's ferocious attempts to skewer him. He had hoped to avoid making the king look too much the fool but it was hard. Arthur could be incredibly idiotic when he was this angry.

When Merlin reappeared at the far side of the room, however, the rest of the crowd seemed to fly apart. There were urgent cries and loud panic echoing throughout the room as a chaotic stream of nobility and diplomats and servants began a mad scramble to get away from the fighting.

He really couldn't blame them. Arthur was being irrational, even for him.

Or perhaps they were afraid of Merlin. After all, in the past, sorcerers at the Pendragon court were known for killing innocents or wreaking havoc on Camelot in their lust for revenge and it was understandably worrisome to have one suddenly pop up in the middle of a crowd.

They couldn't know that he was here to change all that – if Arthur would just listen.

Still, watching him swinging a sword around like that was strangely comforting in a very odd, life-threatening sort of way. Merlin had seen him do it often enough when they were together - Arthur trying to protect his people, his kingdom, in the only way he knew how.

But Merlin could not be caught up in the past much as he wanted to, or underestimate him either, if he hoped to keep his head. Arthur was a formidable warrior and very, very dangerous.

It also didn't escape Merlin's notice that the knights were circling the room, trying to come up behind him. Ridiculous, of course. He'd been around court long enough to learn strategies and battle tactics and he'd learned even more from Taliesin and the others at the Isle. Arthur's picked fighting force would have no chance against him in a battle, not anymore. He ignored them and focused on the king.

Backing up carefully, watching as the last of the innocents scurried out the doors, he said, "Arthur, remember Anhora? You weren't able to touch him, much as you tried."

"Shut up!" Arthur had finally stopped swinging that blasted sword around and was glaring fury at him. "Sorcerer."

"Yes, I have magic. We covered that already." He was calm. He was. The way Arthur had said it had been a dagger thrust to his chest and the prat's eyes had flashed grim satisfaction when Merlin flinched at the vehemence in his voice but he would not let the prince get control of the situation. This was too important. "Do you think we might talk?"

"Sorcerers are not to be trusted." Again, Arthur was spouting his father's poison. Merlin had heard it often enough at court and no one had ever dared challenge it, at least in public. Until now.

Trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice and failing miserably, he snapped, "Arthur, even you aren't that thick-headed. Stop being an idiot and talk to me."

"You can't address me like that."

Oh, gods, the echo of past conversations were threatening to gut him. But if he could connect with Arthur even for a moment, there might be some hope for them yet. "Apparently I can. Yes, I know I was always the idiot and you're a prat but just for today, just today, could we both be reasonable?"

Arthur sent him a narrowed glare that was both furious and strangely comforting. At least Arthur lowered his sword.

"I am always reasonable with those who deserve it." Straightening up, his face hardened into stone, his voice turning formal and cold. "However, I don't see why I should listen to a sorcerer whose word cannot be trusted. Someone who lied to me from the very beginning."

"Arthur…." Mouth suddenly dry with regret, Merlin stumbled to a stop. He had heard the ache in Arthur's voice, hidden under hatred's malice, behind the rage and promise of blooded steel.

He swallowed hard, trying to control his emotions before they overwhelmed him again. The sense that he would fail at his mission was almost too much. They should never have sent him, never sent such a useless fool to try and bring magic back to Camelot. He wasn't able to do this, not with Arthur standing there, looking furious and utterly alone.

Merlin wanted to comfort his old friend, not cause him more pain. Sadness and such a wellspring of devotion for this man caught at his throat. Raising his hands in supplication, he begged, "Arthur, please."

For a brief instant, he thought he had gotten through. There was the slightest of softening in Arthur's eyes, a hint of their old warmth. But then his face paled and he stepped back, looking for all the world as if he'd been slapped. Bringing up the sword, holding it steady, he pointed straight at Merlin. "Enough! I am High King. You will not speak to me that way. You have no right."

"I am not your enemy." Merlin said softly, finally.

Arthur sent him a look of pure loathing. "All sorcerers are my enemies. To know the heart of one is to know them all."

So be it. He would drown in grief later.

"Your Majesty, my apologies." Sending a glance back toward the knights now beginning to crowd around him, he drew back, schooled his face into impassivity. "Apparently, I have overstepped my bounds. I humbly ask that you allow me to present a formal request to open discussions for a peace treaty between your people and mine."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, distaste crabbing his mouth, a thunderous frown cutting into his skin. As he lowered the sword, leaning on it as if thinking seriously about Merlin's request, Arthur's gaze shifted away, seemed to focus on the area next to his right boot.

Merlin could not see his face but Arthur's hand clutched the pommel of the sword with white-knuckled tension, the bones and sinews pulled tight and stark in the candlelight.

Silence filled the room. Even the knights were waiting patiently to hear his decision.

A moment later, Arthur raised his head, his face cold stone, looking so like his father that Merlin took a step back, shivering in the sudden chill.

Voice flat and unyielding, the newly-made High King of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon said, "Arrest him. Take him to the dungeons until I decide what to do with him."

Merlin didn't even protest as the guards clustered around him, allowed them to herd him toward the exit. And as they hustled him out the door, he turned for a moment to look back at his old friend.

Arthur was standing there, still as stone, watching him with implacable eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The dungeon hadn't changed much. Even the air seemed musty and that never-ending trickle of water drip, drip, dripping that he'd remembered from years past was still there. The irony was that they'd escorted him to the very same cell he'd first _enjoyed_ all those years ago, when he'd stood up to that arrogant, annoying, stubborn, cherished prat of a prince. Old straw, a greyed mat that looked as ancient as he felt at the moment, the rustle of mice in the corner, the smell of terror and vomit and unwashed bodies – yes, adequate accommodations for someone they planned to execute eventually.

He had expected no less. And now he had nothing to do but wait and see what Arthur would decide. The High King.

Arguing with the others on the Isle when they'd first suggested a peace treaty and him as the emissary, Merlin had predicted that Arthur would do exactly what he had now done. The man may be a formidable warrior but sometimes he refused to see beyond his anger. To Arthur's eyes, Merlin had betrayed him, something unforgivable even under the best of circumstances.

If, before Nimueh had come and ruined everything, he had somehow saved Arthur in a way that left no doubt of his devotion, Merlin knew that eventually he would have accepted his magic, perhaps even used it and him to the betterment of Camelot and its people. But her interference destroyed that hope, shattered it beyond all measure.

Now he had to find another way to help his people and Arthur's.

Knowing that he shouldn't try and escape the cell – at least until there was no hope of a reconciliation, Merlin settled in for a long stay.

" _Áfeorsaþ musa_."Whispering a reminder to the mice, that as much as he'd like their company, he didn't really want them chewing on his boots and to please go away, he then swept his hand across the air in front of him. Straw began to gather under the mat and along the sides of the stone walls, dust and old food sweeping into the cesspit. And the scent of warm summer grass filled the air.

When he was done and the cell as clean as it could be under the circumstances, in the far corner, next to the mat, he neatly folded his cloak, laying the gold torc and wristlets on top and settled down to wait.

He had to smile at the irony. Gaius would be proud of him; he'd finally learned to tidy up his room.

Trying to rest, though, seemed absurd. In the four years at the Isle, he'd learned many things: how to read into the mind of another, to disappear in the blink of an eye, to fight with spell or sword if necessary. But he'd never learned to shield his heart.

Seeing Arthur again hurt. He hardly recognized the man he once pledged his life to, and now trying to balance the needs of his people with the pain of lost hopes, was creating a hole in his chest so wide Merlin was surprised he could still breathe.

He'd known that they would not, could not go back to the old closeness between them, not matter how much he wanted it. In the past, Arthur would have laid down his life for him; Merlin would have done the same for him without a moment's thought. The thought of _this_ Arthur laying down his life for Merlin, a hated sorcerer, was absurd. Their entwined destinies, two sides of the same coin – impossible now.

But how he wished it could be otherwise.

Sitting back, leaning against the rough stone, he tried to regain some sense of balance. Regretting would not help him find a way to get the High King to see reason. Arthur sometimes held onto ideas with a stubbornness to rival his father's and he had been trained since birth to hate magic in all forms.

Even so, almost any other sorcerer, perhaps with the exception of Nimueh, would have had a better chance than he did with treaty negotiations. Arthur would only see a betrayer's face; the man would ignore the wider implications and think with his heart, not his head.

Merlin had tried to explain that to those at the Isle, had argued long and hard against it. They had believed that he was the most powerful among them and therefore the least likely to get killed. But he knew it wouldn't be enough, not for this.

Or perhaps they saw into Merlin's heart as well; perhaps this was their way of making him face his fears. He'd never stopped grieving, not in all the years since he'd last seen Arthur. They'd admonished him about it many times, saying that it was no use to hold onto it, that he had to move on with his life, that he could never go back to what he had.

Perhaps they were right. But his heart rarely listened to good advice when it came to Arthur.

His mind going round and round seemingly in an endless loop of guilt and regret, he decided finally he'd had enough of thinking altogether. Putting his fears deliberately aside, he pulled his cloak over him. Listening to the lulling sound of water drip-dripping and the mutter of guards talking in the distance, he settled down to try and sleep. It had been a long day and tomorrow would be longer yet.

* * *

He must have dozed off. He woke to the sound of muffled sobs coming from somewhere off to the left, down toward the lower dungeons but when he called out, asked if they were alright, the sounds abruptly stopped. He tried twice more but there was no reply. Finally, apparently more tired than he realized, he fell back to sleep.

* * *

Mocking laughter, and the torches were flickering in the darkness. The sound of armoured feet and there were catcalls and sneers and mounting fear. It must have been early morning, that chill time before the sun rose and he shivered, in cold, in terror. His body felt leaden, his arms weak as if all the strength had been leeched out and he could hardly raise his head. He tried to slither further away from the cell door, his back already up against the wall, and there were manacles on his wrists and feet. They clinked, mocking his attempts to hide.

 _Merlin_...

They were coming for him. He was innocent and he'd begged them for mercy and pleaded, cried out until his throat was raw and they beat him to make him stopped talking, until he could do nothing but moan in pain. They were coming anyway, coming to kill him, to burn him alive and he couldn't stand it, was terrified knowing that in a few moments he would be shrieking in agony, his flesh a living torch, his hair ablaze, and he'd scream until blood flowed from his mouth and sizzled in the flames. Couldn't breathe, couldn't... Such pain and the torches were coming closer and he wanted to beg again. Anything to get them to see that he wasn't…. wasn't a sorcerer. He knew nothing of magic and they were coming...

 _Merlin_...

 _Merlin_.

 _Merlin_!

Abruptly, Merlin was awake, already kneeling, hands clawed against the wall as if he'd tried to crawl in between the stones, face damp with panicked tears. He felt like he'd been screaming for hours. Taking a few deep breaths to clear his head, he looked around but all was quiet. It was still night. There was no movement in the corridor and even the guards were silent. There was only the sound of water dripping and his own harsh breath.

He could still feel the terror though, still feel the heat of burning wood and the raw agony racing across his skin as it caught fire. Nightmare or vision, he wasn't sure but it had shaken him.

Deliberately, he lay back down again, trying to slow his racing heart and clear his head. He would be no use to anyone if he didn't calm himself and get some sleep. He'd need every weapon at his command, even his wits, especially his wits when Arthur sent for him.

Turning to one side, he stared out into the corridor and tried not to think, to let himself drift, drift back to sleep.

' _Merlin_!'

Damn. He knew that voice. That unbearable old lizard. He'd not heard it since he'd left Camelot, although for the first year or so, he'd often felt the Dragon calling to him with its magic. While he remained on the Isle of the Blessed for training, he'd ignored it. Sometimes it had been difficult. The Dragon certainly knew how to annoy when it wanted something but it wasn't as if Merlin could have gone back to Camelot to have a chat.

Besides, the Dragon had been wrong in so many ways that Merlin could not begin to count them all. And he had never given him a straight answer even when he had visited the damn thing.

At first, he hadn't known whether the Dragon had been trying to aid him or just like playing with the mortals or if he'd gone mad with loneliness. Later he'd come to realize that, while some of his cryptic ramblings had actually helped Merlin, the slimy reptile had also used him for his own purposes and that didn't exactly warm him to the Dragon's plight.

However, he knew he'd not get any rest if Merlin tried to ignore him. So he sat up, his back leaning against the rough stone and started talking to the air. "What do you want?"

There was a faint mental huff and Merlin could almost see the Great Dragon sputtering. _'Are we not meeting face to face?'_

He tilted his head back, let out a long resigned sigh, accepting that he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. He looked up into the dark curve of window overhead. Peering past the bars, he could see that the night sky was crystal clear, a rare occurrence for Camelot and the stars were a scatter of luminous colour. At the very edge of the stonework, the Dog Star shone out, bright and sharp and he had to lean further in to see the half-coin of moon there. At the Isle, he would have been outside, lying on the grass, drinking his fill of infinity.

Instead he was in prison, waiting for his destiny to arrive. "No, I'm in a cell and I don't want to give Arthur any reason to reject the treaty discussions just because you are lonely. I'm staying here. You can accept that or not. Your choice."

 _'Young warlock, you try my patience.'_

He couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice. "And you _try_ mine. Get to the point."

 _'You tread a fine line with the Once and Future King. A single misstep could bring disaster.'_

"Yes, I know. Anything else?"

He tried to remain calm. The nightmare was still playing in the far reaches of his head, his shirt sweat-soaked with the remnants of terror. The mission that had brought him here could go wrong in so many ways. He was all too aware of what was at stake. He didn't need the Dragon using his old tricks, using his guilt and fears about Arthur to push Merlin in directions he was reluctant to go. Besides, he'd had enough of lectures at the Isle.

 _'It would be better if the young Pendragon sees reason. The forces of the Old Religion have been too long kept from this place. The imbalance shakes the very foundations of the earth itself.'_

"I have read the signs."

The indications were far too clear. If Arthur didn't accept magic back into the kingdom, the cost for Camelot, indeed the cost for all the people of Albion, would be staggeringly high. There would be such a storm of darkness, a flash flood of horror and destruction, hordes of barbarians cutting down everything in their path, a chaotic mix of magical creatures and power-mad warlords sowing obliteration, fire and wind and rain and ruination until there was nothing left in the land but death.

 _'Are you prepared to eliminate the Pendragon line if he refuses?'_

That was the question he didn't want to answer, didn't want to think about. He knew that he'd be able to use a manipulation spell on Arthur and force him to agree to the treaty but it wouldn't last forever and once Arthur regained his senses, there would be no stopping him taking revenge. He was a formidable foe on the battlefield and a leader capable of enormous strength and ferocity. Once unleashed, there would be a bloodbath so vast that the stars would cry out in horror.

Yet, magic demanded that the balance be righted and soon. Those in power at the Isle had warned him. They would find a new king, more compliant to the ways of sorcery if needs be, and place him on the throne of Camelot if Arthur did not accept their arrangement. They would not hold back; they would do whatever was necessary to keep Albion from sinking into chaos, even murder the High King if it would bring the world back into balance.

Merlin didn't know if he had it in him to stand by and let them assassinate Arthur. Or else have to kill Arthur himself, to have his hands soaked in bloody betrayal, and see the man he'd pledged his loyalty and love to all those years ago curse him with his last breath.

He'd rather cut out his own heart than do what they expected of him should his mission fail. Even if it was to bring peace to Albion. And yet, and yet...

Knowing the damn lizard was waiting for his answer and likely reading his thoughts as well, he said sharply, "I will do what I have to do. No need to remind me of the consequences."

 _'They will hunt you down if you do not fulfil your destiny.'_ The Dragon almost sounded smug. Merlin hated him for it.

"I know." He looked up again. High above his head, framed by iron bars and stone, the faithful Dog Star still trailed the oblivious moon but it gave him no comfort. Instead, he shivered, lost in the uncaring vastness of destiny. It had sounded so glorious when he was a naïve, pathetic excuse of a manservant. Now he knew better. Destiny was a trap and he was caught in it.

 _'Then do not fail, Emrys._ ' There was a sound of wings and the Dragon's voice fading into the distance and then silence.

"I will not fail. I dare not." He slumped forward, cradling his head in his hands, whispered it fragile-soft into his skin, so very unsure. "And my name is Merlin."


	3. Chapter 3

The sky was beginning to lighten when he finally gave up trying to sleep. The apprehension, the knowledge that he must not fail, that too much was at stake, drove all thoughts of rest from his mind. He considered the mission directives over and over again, thinking of how it would be received when he finally talked to Arthur and his council about a treaty between their peoples.

Would Arthur rage or turn stone-silent, stare at him with disgust in his eyes as he had only hours ago? Would he even allow Merlin to plead his case? The old Arthur, pompous and arrogant at times, had been surprisingly compassionate, with hidden depths of honour and duty that went beyond just the words. He'd always put the needs of the people of Camelot first, even above his own life.

Now, he wasn't sure. Arthur had treated him like an enemy, had tried only to destroy. There had been no compassion there, not even a wish for it. Would he be able to break through Arthur's hatred, at least long enough to help their people? Or would this turn into a calamity of epic proportions?

Too many questions remained unanswered and it was driving him mad with worry.

Finally, he got up and started pacing, hoping to rid himself of nervous energy, to calm himself with mindless wanderings. It wasn't as if he could go anywhere. The cell door was no obstacle but if he tried to leave, he knew Arthur would not hesitate to order him killed. And that would only signal those at the Isle that the new king was too much his father's son and the deluge would begin. Disaster for them all.

From one end of the cell to the other and back again, chewing on his nails as he used to do when he was younger and far more naïve. He never did have much patience; much as they tried, his teachers at the Isle could never train it out of him.

Oh, he could fake stillness and calm with the best of them but on his own, he saw no need of it. It was against his nature to pretend. Lying had always been hard, more so when he had wanted so much to tell Arthur everything. Hopefully, once he was free of his destiny, he'd never have to lie again.

Frowning, worrying about the future, he didn't watch where he was going, didn't even think about it. So, of course, he found the one flagstone in the cell that was slightly off-level and stumbled over it.

How a sorcerer with his powers could be so damnably clumsy with ordinary things was beyond his comprehension. There wasn't even a spell to correct the problem. He'd spent days trying and frankly, it wasn't funny any more. It was a good thing that he seemed to lose the uncoordinated gracelessness that had plagued him all his life whenever he was performing magic. Otherwise, he'd have killed himself off years ago tripping over his own feet.

He slumped, and sat down on the stairs next to the cell door. Arthur had always had something to say about his inept hunting skills. The snide remarks had hurt at first but he'd come to realize that Arthur's comments were more teasing than mockery, almost as if Merlin had been welcomed to a place at his side. He thought he'd be there forever.

How foolish he'd been.

Leaning against the wall, he stared up, looking at the stone blocks, following quarry mark lines and glint of quartz crystals, half-listening to the noise of early morning: guards talking, the rhythmic punch of marching feet high above in the courtyard, the growing call of birdsong, people beginning to bustle with their daily lives. Below it, hardly noticeable, there was a faint sound echoing from outside the cell - off to the left and down toward the lower dungeons, the same place he'd heard crying a few hours before.

"Ei, this night is long..." It was the whisper of a lullaby, the girl's voice, soft and sad and low, half-cracking with grief and he could hear her struggling to fight back tears. "And I am much wronged, Sorrow and mourn and …." The song died off and there were muffled weeping again, as if her heart were breaking.

Merlin could never stand to hear anyone cry.

As quietly as he could so the guards would not come to investigate, he murmured, "Are you alright?"

"I…" A slight gasp and the sound of misery died. A few moments passed and Merlin was about to ask again when the girl whispered back, "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean…"

Poor girl. It was clear that she was mourning something or someone. There were a thousand reasons why she might be imprisoned but she sounded so young. Surely, her offence would be minor enough that she'd be out of the cell by the end of the day. Usually when a new king was crowned, they'd review the cases and pardon the lesser crimes and let the prisoners go with just a warning. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No, nothing." Her voice was breaking again and she sounded like she was struggling to breathe, that she was on the verge of weeping and only holding back by the merest of threads. "I'm… I'm going to die tomorrow and I'm… I'm afraid." A hint of sound, of desolation. "So afraid."

"Perhaps I could get the king to reconsider? Maybe if…" Merlin wasn't sure he'd see Arthur before then but the guards could take a message, have someone plead her case. She sounded little more than a child. Surely her crime, whatever it was, couldn't have been bad enough for a death sentence. Unless it was murder or... sorcery.

But there was no one in Camelot who could use magic, except for Merlin. Uther Pendragon had seen to that.

"Doesn't matter. They won't listen. They kill people like me." Her voice lowered; she seemed exhausted, faint with breathless desperation. "One wrong word or someone doesn't like you and it's... it's too late." The girl paused for a moment, almost as if she were trying to make some sense of it. "I didn't... I didn't do anything but they won't listen. The king hates..." She stopped.

Perhaps she was afraid of further punishment, of facing charges of treason on top of whatever else she had done. But Merlin had to be certain. He pushed her for answers. "Hates what?"

"Hates magic," she blurted out and then, obviously hoping to make him understand, she stammered, "I never… I never did anything. I'm not what they say I am but no one will believe me. No one has even come to say good… good-bye." Another tremulous breath full of misery, staggering loss that seemed to destroy her. "They are too afraid. Talking to a witch or even knowing one can get you killed."

It was possible that she was newly come into her powers; Merlin could not feel any trace of magical talents from her and surely the others would have gotten her out of Camelot before now if she had the gift but he had to be sure. "Are you? A witch?"

"No!" She sounded horrified at the very idea and then began weeping again. "I want to go home."

"Please, don't cry. I believe you." He ached to comfort her but remained where he was. He couldn't leave the cell – Arthur would only use it as an excuse to claim treachery, but it was hard, so hard to sit by and do nothing. "What's your name?"

"Bronwyn." The girl sounded exhausted, wrung out from grief. "Thank you for listening. I've been so alone." There was a moment's pause and then she said softly, timidly, "I don't even know your name."

"You probably don't remember me. I worked here a few years ago." Most of the staff in the castle and quite a few of the townspeople had known who he was and it would be good for both of them to talk about happier times. "I'm Merlin. I was once Prince Arthur's servant."

"The traitor?" She seemed unsure, almost as if she didn't know what to believe.

It hurt to hear her call him that. He'd never been a traitor. Never. "I know that the king has called for my execution, called me a traitor. But it's not true. I would never betray him."

There must have been something in his voice, pain or the knowledge that he'd lost everything that day.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry." There was sympathy there and a kind of kinship between them. "Then why would the king want you dead?"

"Same reason as you, only in my case, it's true." He looked up toward the window; the morning light was edged in hard stone and iron bars - truly a prison in so many ways. "I use magic or perhaps magic uses me. Sometimes I don't know."

"Oh gods, a sorcerer!" There was a horrified gasp and he could hear her scrambling back, her voice getting fainter and further away. She must have retreated to the far end of her cell. Grief had disappeared and there was terror in the way she begged him, "Oh, please, please don't hurt me. I won't tell them anything."

"Bronwyn, I'm not like that, no matter what you've been told. Magic can be used for good, too. I've done so many times." But she refused to talk, tried to muffle her cries, obviously frightened beyond measure to be trapped in a dungeon with a sorcerer so close and no hope of rescue. "Bronwyn?" But there was no answer.

Merlin leaned against the cell wall, feeling abruptly helpless. He was furious, furious enough to shatter stone and steel and show them all just how powerful he truly was. He thought she would understand. After all, she was facing death for witchcraft, innocent or not, and they were both hated for it. But she could not see beyond the lies she'd been taught.

The poison the old king had spread was well and truly entrenched in the hearts of Camelot.

Sometimes he hated Uther Pendragon.

* * *

  
After a while, after a few futile attempts at reassuring the girl, he gave up, put aside thinking about what was past and what was to come and settled back on his mat. He didn't remember falling asleep. Exhaustion must have taken hold but there were no more nightmares.

He slept fitfully, tossing and turning and came suddenly awake to faces watching him.

Not Arthur, much as he longed to see him. A half-dozen guards hovered outside the open door, all of them with hands on their naked swords. One inside the cell, standing near the entrance, tall, a face he'd known long ago and now spearheading the group staring at him. Sir Geraint.

Merlin got to his feet, brushing off a few pieces of straw, and stood there, waiting to find out what they wanted. It didn't look good, though. The men were nervous, skittish and the blades unsteady. They kept glancing at him and then away again, the torchlight playing off troubled frowns or grim mouths. Dread perhaps or the beginnings of panic. They were afraid and fearful men were always trouble. And the door was open.

If they rushed him, it might be difficult to escape injury without hurting them. And that would only make things worse. But it didn't look as if they planned on killing him, at least not right away. So he decided to play the harmless envoy.

Slumping his shoulders a bit to look less threatening, folding his hands in front of him to let them see that he was unarmed, he nodded toward them all. "Sir Geraint, welcome. I trust his Majesty is well and that soon I will be able to speak with him about a treaty between our people."

Perhaps they were expecting spells or him on his knees begging for mercy or a litany of demands. But by appearing meek and somewhat vulnerable, he seemed to throw them off-balance. A flurry of exchanged looks among the guards and some of the swords began to lower.

However, not unexpectedly, Geraint wasn't so easily fooled. He stepped forward, daggers in his voice."He does not wish to see you, sorcerer."

Again, not unexpected. What he's wanted, wished for, longed for, was a sign, any sign, that Arthur was reconsidering his decisions about Merlin, that maybe he'd accept him back and they could regain what they'd lost four years ago but it was absurd really. Impossible on every level and yet his heart kept betraying him.

Taking a deep breath, facing the reality of his situation, Merlin looked at Sir Geraint, assessed his options. When he'd been Arthur's servant, the knights had been straightforward, on the field and off. This man was as clear as glass about his loyalties, protecting his king with words and perhaps more, as once he had been. And Merlin would not have let any sorcerer near Arthur, either.

He decided to meet Geraint truth for truth. "Is that why you've come with a sword in your hand? To make sure he doesn't see me again?"

"He has not ordered your execution as yet, if that is what you are asking." The man was nothing if not direct. In many ways, it was a relief. At least with Geraint, he could be honest.

"Then why _are_ you here?" Merlin stood there, hands still folded. It was possible that Geraint was acting on his own. If he thought he was doing his duty by killing Merlin, to save Arthur the trouble of ordering it – there were political implications and personal ones, too. It could turn deadly very fast.

"I want to know what you are doing here. To return knowing that sorcery is forbidden and the penalty is death, are you that much of a fool?" Sharp, bitter, probing for weakness. He clearly didn't believe Merlin was there to negotiate a peace treaty.

"Apparently so." He'd been a fool to stay in Camelot after that first execution, knowing he could be put to death at any time; he'd been a fool to listen to a dragon trapped beneath the stony earth lecturing about destiny and coins; he'd been a fool to think Arthur would ever accept him for who he was.

Knowing that he was still a fool, Merlin couldn't keep the sting out of his voice. "And do you need so many guards behind you to lecture a fool?"

"Apparently so." Geraint echoed him, contemptuous and then, bringing his sword up into the ready position, renewed his verbal attack. "Why are you here? To cause trouble for the king? To sow unrest? To kill him?"

Outside the cell, there was an urgent sound of booted feet and Geraint turned just as Arthur said sharply, "Yes, I would like to know the answer to that as well."

His once-friend had discarded the ceremonial robes of the previous evening for hunting gear; a dragon, embossed and heavily worked in gold, blazed across the red jacket and there were buttons studded at shoulder and chest, a glint of vambrace steel peering out from beneath leather cuffs and chased gold edging wrists and throat. A dagger was sheathed on his belt.

Arthur looked every inch a warrior.

In a wild, fiercely possessive moment, Merlin had to wonder who took care of Arthur now. He'd never been a good manservant but he had tried. Now jealous of that faceless man - his replacement, someone who took care of the prat, kept him company, fed him and clothed him and watched his back, a boot-licker who never argued and never laughed - it threatened to destroy what little equilibrium he had left. Ignoring a throat growing tight with loss, knowing that he needed to pretend indifference for the sake of his mission, he deliberately schooled his face into emptiness and waited.

As the guards parted and Arthur stepped down into the cell, Sir Geraint hurried over to him. "Your Majesty, I was checking on the prisoner."

"I don't need your protection, Geraint, much as you might think otherwise." Arthur glared at the knight and his flat tone spoke volumes. Obviously, someone had overstepped their boundaries.

He had to give the man credit. He didn't retreat at the first sign of royal displeasure; instead he stood his ground. Sword steady in his hand, he nodded toward Merlin. "Sire, he's a known danger to you."

"Yes, I am well aware of his treachery but it is my decision, not yours, to interrogate him or torture him or kill him or let him go. Mine!" The look Arthur sent Geraint could have melted cold steel and he held that intense gaze for several seconds, until the knight nodded reluctantly and stepped back.

"I wish to talk with Merlin alone."

That did not go well with Geraint. Drawing himself up, towering over Arthur, he began to argue furiously with him. "Your people would never forgive me if anything happened to you, my lord."

With the exception of his father, the king was never one to let anyone tell him what to do and Merlin could see him getting more and more mulish with every word out of Geraint's mouth.

This time, the knight refused to give way. "I will not neglect my duty, sire, even for you."

Arthur stood there for a moment, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a grim line as though he was keeping in his anger by sheer willpower alone. Then frowning sharply enough to cut through any argument, he nodded toward the door. "Stay then but clear the corridor. I don't need an army at my back to talk with a traitor."

Geraint looked thoroughly relieved. Motioning the others to disperse – which, Merlin noted, they did with all haste, the knight moved to the open cell door and stood there, sword at the ready, guarding it.

Not even looking at the man, obviously assuming that his commands would be carried out without further protest, Arthur stared at Merlin. There was revulsion in his eyes and the clench of his jaw; it hurt Merlin to know that he had put it there.

The silence echoed a kind of torment, a breathless dread of waiting for a beginning or an end. Then Arthur stepped forward, within arm's reach, close enough to be able to clasp their hands in renewed friendship or sink a dagger into Merlin's waiting heart.

But there was more than one way to wield a knife and Arthur had certainly learned over the years how to hurt him. "Are you here alone? Or are your friends hiding in the dark like the cowards they are?"

"I am alone. They did not want to risk too many of the others in case you... reacted badly." He had been a willing sacrifice; more than one sorcerer had argued against it, said that they should have gone in force, not sent him alone into danger but Merlin knew Arthur. Any large group would have just led to war and the wholesale slaughter of their peoples.

"I'm surprised your friend, Nimueh, didn't come along. You seemed so close." Scathing, cold, almost cruel and Arthur's smile was mocking as he said it.

That cut too close to the bone. He was suddenly fuming, reacting not with diplomacy but heat. "Nimueh was never my friend!"

Arthur shot back, "That's not how it appeared to me."

"Then you should have looked closer. She manipulated you, lied to you and you fell for it." How Merlin wanted to shake the man and make him see reason. "You should have looked beyond appearances."

And for a moment, he thought he had gotten through. There was the briefest flash of pain in Arthur's eyes but he only said sharply, "Appearances as in a sorcerer pretending to be a friend?"

"Or a friend who would not see past his anger and realize the truth."

Arthur jerked back, looking as if Merlin had struck him and then real fury, bloody and dangerous, flushed his skin. "What was I to think, Merlin? You were leaving with her. What other truth is there?"

Blinking back frustration, trying to clear his head of sorrow and anger and abject misery and a thousand other emotions that threatened to crowd into his throat and silence him, Merlin took a long, deep breath and let it out again.

"Nimueh threatened me, threatened to tell your father of my magic if I didn't go with her, threatened my friends. And when I still refused, she swore to kill you unless I changed my mind. I couldn't stand it if anything..." Better not to think of what she would have done had he not agreed. "I had no choice but to go with her."

Watching Arthur, hoping that when his prince, his king, understood the truth of that day, he'd finally come to accept Merlin for what he was. As he listened, however, Arthur's face was still full of hard edges. His eyes were opaque, unreadable, cold as a winter's day. There was no affection, no welcoming looks, nothing but weight and decisions.

When Merlin stumbled his way to a stop and the silence lengthened, Arthur looked at him and then around the cell and finally toward Sir Geraint, the king's man patiently waiting for orders. And then back to Merlin. His mouth twisted into contempt. "A well-crafted story. How long did you practice that speech before it sounded almost like the truth?"

Merlin was wrung out and it made him careless. "It is the truth, you stupid prat."

Arthur didn't even blink at the insult but there was a hint of loss in the slump of shoulders as he turned away. Looking up toward the window, watching the play of light across the iron bars and stonework, his voice was flat, frosted with ice. "Let's talk _truth_ , shall we, Merlin? Nimueh called you friend, insisted that you were in it together. You denied it, of course, but when she attacked me with fire and rain and power, there was fire in your hand as well."

Arthur sent him a look of absolute scorn, the ache of betrayal clear in his cold eyes. "I don't know why you didn't kill me, gratitude for the times I saved you life, perhaps. But that is the only reason you are alive now."

Merlin was appalled. That wasn't how it had been. He had tried to take her down with fire but Nimueh had been too clever, too experienced in sorcery for him. How could Arthur have believed this of him all these years?

"Arthur, I was defending you. How could you not see that?"

"If that were true, if you had been honest with me, even once, I could have forgiven you the lies." Arthur turned away, glared at the dusty stone beneath his feet as if he'd find the answers there and then looked up at him, once more the hardened king. "But you used me and that I cannot forgive."

"What was I supposed to do? Sorcery was a death sentence and your father the executioner. Did you expect me to trust you with that? Think that you'd help me hide my magic from your father? That you'd commit treason for the sake of friendship?"

Voice rising with every word, Merlin reached out, frustrated beyond measure, wanting to shake Arthur hard enough to knock some sense into him but the king jerked away, hand on his knife, battle-wary, staring at him with alarm. Sir Geraint started down the stairs, sword gleaming in the light, promising sharp death if he dared approach the king.

The anger was beating against his chest, the pressure to do something pounding at him, to show Arthur somehow that Merlin's life had been destroyed that day and how dare he think otherwise. "You nearly took my head off when you found out."

Arthur stood there, impassive, a wall of stubborn stone, watching him, judging him, finding him unworthy. No understanding, no compassion, nothing but a stranger's flat stare.

It hurt to see him there, looking at Merlin as if he were nothing, less than nothing. The fury leached away, poured out into the stones beneath his feet, leaving him swaying with loss. Arthur would never believe him, no matter how much he protested. Lowering his hands, hunching down with weary finality, Merlin said, "It no longer matters. What's done is done. But please don't let what happened between us affect any negotiations for a treaty between our two peoples. It's too important to dismiss just because it's me presenting it."

"I will do what is best for my people. And if you have forgotten that, you never knew me at all."A moment's pause, eyes filled with anger, disgust, loss, longing, resignation, so many emotions flying behind the blue gaze that it was dizzying, a chaotic jumble, and then it all flattened again, turned opaque as hardened steel.

When Arthur turned to leave, much as he wanted to sink down to his knees and beg him to understand, Merlin knew it would be useless.

But there was one thing he could do. He'd made a promise to a frightened girl, alone and waiting execution by fire; at the very least, he had to try and fulfil his pledge to help. "Sire, there's... I have a favour to ask. If you will allow it."

Twisting around, Arthur snapped, "You should tread carefully. You are on thin ice as it is."

"It isn't for me." Merlin took a deep breath, trying to sound calm, trying to get it right so that one person would go free in this whole debacle. "There's a girl, further down in the dungeons. I was talking with her last night. She says she's going to be executed tomorrow for sorcery."

"Yes, what of it?" Arms folded across his chest, looking as coolly remote as carved marble, Arthur stood there, waiting for Merlin to get to the point.

"She's innocent." Simply said but he knew Arthur would not accept it, could not accept it.

"That's what they all claim. She was given a trial and found guilty." Flat, pitiless, unyielding. "Sorcery is punished by death, either beheading or burning. The law hasn't changed just because I am now king."

"She's innocent," Merlin repeated. "She has no magic in her. I would have sensed it if she had." When Arthur only looked sceptical, looked as if he refused to think it was his problem, looked as if he had already distanced himself from it and would do nothing more, Merlin tried again. "All I ask is that you investigate further, look at her accusers and the evidence. The Arthur I knew wouldn't let an innocent girl die because of his pride."

It must have hit a nerve. Eyes sharp with rebuke, Arthur growled out, "Have a care what you say, sorcerer."

"Arthur, I know it's hard to listen to someone you no longer trust but…."

"Sorcery is forbidden in Camelot, on pain of death. There is no place that those with magical powers can hide. No place we will not find. And when we capture them, we kill them. Simple enough even for an idiot like you."

His voice was rising, growing harder and more strident as he shouted at Merlin. Scathing too and dripping with sarcasm. A thousand ways to insult him, a thousand ways to hide from the truth. Arthur must have understood more than he was letting on, perhaps lying to himself about the destruction of sorcery in the kingdom under Uther's hand.

"Not so simple."

Merlin would have to be the one to break through the façade of righteous indignation. He hadn't planned on telling him so soon, had thought to bring it up amidst negotiations on the treaty between their peoples when Arthur might have been more likely to accept what had happened these last years. But now there was no way to soften the blow.

"Arthur, we've been smuggling them out for some time. There is no man, woman or child left in Camelot with magical abilities, hasn't been for over two years."

"What?" Arthur stood stock-still, his face draining of blood. He looked ill.

"Your father won. He got rid of all sorcerers in the kingdom." His friend had prided himself on his compassion for the people of Camelot, had thought of them as his responsibility, had been willing to die for them. Merlin knew how much this news must have pained Arthur. "It was decided that, much as it unbalances the world, the continued destruction of our own people was too much. We've been getting them out of Camelot ever since."

"What?" Arthur's voice deepened into anger, and there were frowns and hatred lingering in his eyes and the beginnings of denial.

"There are no sorcerers in Camelot, no wizards, no witches, no magic users at all. We remove them from your reach as soon as we can, long before their powers begin to emerge, long before your guards can come for them." Merlin didn't want there to be any misunderstandings. He said carefully. "The girl, Bronwyn, is not one of ours. She has no magic."

"Are you saying that we've been killing…?" Arthur turned white as a shroud and then lashed out, lightning-fast, slamming a fist across Merlin's mouth.

He stumbled back, pain a white-fire blaze down his face and across lips already blossoming with blood. Arthur followed, raised his clenched fists, fingers slick with red, ready to strike again and he did, knuckles slamming his chin, the armoured vambrace at Arthur's wrist cutting into his cheek, a sharp biting line. Merlin fell backwards, onto the hard stone, covering his face with hands and elbows and protection, waiting for the next blow. It didn't even occur to him to fight back.

"Liar! To be spreading such filth is beyond belief. I should kill you now and be done with it." Arthur's eyes were wild, fierce with contempt. He stood there, breathing heavily, mouth grimacing with effort, his hands opening and closing as if he wanted to strangle Merlin where he lay. Then he straightened, stared down at him one last time, turned, shoved past Geraint and stalked out of the cell. He did not look back.

The knight took a step forward, pointing his sword toward Merlin. "This better not be true, sorcerer."

"But you will investigate." It was not a question.

Geraint grunted agreement, nodding reluctantly. "Yes, for all our sakes." Then he turned away, going up the steps and locking the cell door behind him.

Merlin dabbed at his swollen mouth with one corner of his sleeve, soaking it with blood and saliva and he could feel a trickle of something down the side of his face. The injury flaring as he tried to wipe it clean. He hadn't used magic to avoid Arthur's fury - he would have sensed if his life had been in danger, but still he accepted the pain, felt in the deepest corner of his heart that, in a way, he'd deserved it. And the hurt flashing across his skin was nothing to what he felt at the loss of Arthur's affection.

Geraint gave him a final, long assessing look. "I hope you are lying." And without waiting for a reply, he strode away, leaving Merlin to his wounds.

All Merlin could do was whisper into the silence. "I wish I were."


	4. Chapter 4

They'd fed him at mid-day, stale bread, one small square of cheese and tepid water, only enough to take the edge off his hunger, little more than substandard fare. He'd used some of the liquid to bathe his cuts and cool the bruises he could feel blossoming on his face. He didn't need a mirror to know he looked a mess, the battered target of Pendragon shame.

The look on Arthur's face when he told him about the innocent victims of Uther's paranoia – he'd never seen him so angry, even more than when he'd found out about Merlin's magic all those years ago.

It had hurt to see that fury aimed at him. It still hurt, more than a few bruises ever could but he tried to ignore it, tried not to think about what Arthur would do next. In the long years since he'd seen him last, he had changed, they both had and now he no longer knew Arthur. At all. He could welcome Merlin back; he could leave him in the cell to starve; he could try and cut his throat or drag him out to burn; there was a thousand different ways this could end.

But instead of further punishment or heated arguments, he'd been ignored, left alone to worry about destiny.

It was quiet in the cell. No mice scurrying through the straw, no sharp arguments among the guards, no soft cries from the girl he'd tried to defend. Even the sounds from the street above were hushed, the daylight chatter giving way to evening murmurs and then stillness as night fell. There was nothing but a hollow emptiness, a moment of time where everything was stopped, a caught breath waiting, waiting.

Laying on the pallet, ignoring the growl in his belly, he stared up through the bars of his cell into the dark sky and tried not to think too much. He didn't know how long he drifted, isolated and unhappy and so very alone. The moon might have wheeled about, the little Dog Star winking past the iron and stone of his window but it was deep into night when the clatter of booted feet woke him again.

He looked up to see Sir Geraint striding past his cell, further into the dungeons, soldiers in his wake. They were moving steadily, determined, faces solemn, eyes focused on their destination. No one even glanced in his direction.

Struggling to his feet, he padded over to the cell door. Hands crimped around the bars, his face pushed into the iron, his heart aching with a maelstrom of hopes and dreads too numerous to name, he leaned forward, straining to hear if Arthur had come to his senses or was about to condemn another innocent to death.

The moment seemed to stretch on and on, breathless, waiting for eternity, the clank of feet turning into silence and then the sharp echo of a girl's name. "Bronwyn of Camelot."

"Please, I didn't." She was whimpering in terror. Merlin heard the cell door swinging open and there was a harsh rustle of straw and half-caught sobs. She must have scampered back, trying to get away, all the while pleading for mercy. "Please..."

Geraint's voice was reverberating down the cold stone corridor. "By order of the King, you are hereby released. You have been declared…"

"Innocent." Merlin had been paying too much attention to the unfolding drama to notice Arthur leaning against the corner wall, staring at him but with that one sharp, flat word, he turned to face the king.

The silence lay heavy between them but beyond he could hear the quick hysterical laugh and babblings of a grateful, exhausted girl. Another rustle of straw and the light foot of someone desperate to leave coming closer and she was kneeling at the king's feet, brown hair tumbling forward, bits of mud and hay caught in her ringlets, and a dirty hand covering her face. Her voice was trembling with relief. "Your Highness, thank you, thank you. I promise, I swear I never did any magic and I'll be good, so good, I promise."

Behind her, the guards exchanged glances, looking embarrassed and not a little ill. Sir Geraint's mouth flattened, shuffled his feet, obviously wanting to be away from this dismal reminder that they'd almost killed an innocent girl for paranoia's sake, that they'd murdered dozens in the past in the name of duty.

The muscles in Arthur's jaw ticked once, twice, frowns cutting into his skin and for a moment, his hands clenched into fists so tight that Merlin thought the bones would shatter. Then deliberately loosing his fingers into a courtier's pose, Arthur reached down and gently pulled her up. "You should thank Merlin. He was the one who insisted you were innocent."

There was a flash of brown eyes and she shied away, pale and terrified. She didn't look even fifteen years old. "I... I heard. I..."

Merlin couldn't bear it. It was clear she wanted to escape and he'd had enough of fear. "Your Majesty, let her go home and that will be thanks enough."

Another frightened glance and she backed up, hand covering her mouth, shivering as if she were some exhausted rabbit waiting to be torn to pieces by wolves. Arthur must have realized that there would be no gratitude, no words of thanks, that she was too scared of Merlin to see him as anything but a hated sorcerer. He waved her off. "Go home then, Bronwyn."

She gave a fleeting bow and then ran as fast as she could, scurrying away without a backward glance. So much for gratitude but Merlin was glad enough that she had escaped execution that he could not fault her for it.

It wasn't until the sound of hurried footsteps died away that he tried to break the silence. "Thank you, sire. I'm glad that you set her free."

Arthur's jaw clenched and he looked away, back towards where she'd fled and then frowned as the guards stood there watching them both. He turned to Sir Geraint. "Take your men back to the barracks. There will be drills tomorrow and they need to be ready."

"I will stay, my lord." Geraint's eyes flicked in Merlin's direction. There was worry there and a kind of mulish protectiveness; it was obvious he'd give his life for his king but they'd had this very same argument in front of Merlin before. Arthur had given in but he wasn't so certain Geraint would get his way so easily this time.

"Merlin and I have things to discuss." Arthur's gaze was rigid stone, unbreakable, immovable. "Alone. And if you continue to protest, I will strip you of your knighthood and cast you out of Camelot." And when the knight took a breath, getting ready to argue anyway, Arthur said sharply, "Do not _try_ my patience. I find I have none left."

For a moment, Merlin thought Geraint would defy the king, taking his chances with an angry monarch as he had before. But there must have been something in the way Arthur looked, fury and heartbreak and the need to find the truth in the set of his mouth and the dead weight in his eyes.

Bowing his head, surrender in a single gesture, Geraint motioned for his men to follow him, a harsh tramp of leather against stone that echoed up the stairs and faded into the night.

For a moment, there was silence. Arthur's face tightened, twisted as if he'd tasted bitter fruit, all hard angles and hatred. "She was innocent. Someone jealous of her gave false witness and there was such a fear of reprisals for harbouring a witch that others came forward, too."

"Yes, I'm sorry that you had to find out this way." The stain of those murders had sunk into Merlin's skin long ago, had sunk into his heart and the guilt of it lingered there. He'd been helpless to do anything at the time but still it ate at him. He supposed it always would.

"Dozens died. Innocent people and we burned them or cut off their heads for something they were not." Arthur stared unblinking down toward the dungeons, where a now-empty cell had once held a terrified girl. His voice was tentative, disbelieving, memories whispering into the torchlight of what had been done, horror at the thought. Then he turned hard again, all scowls and loathing, glaring through the bars of the cell door, pointedly catching Merlin's gaze. "And you let us do it. Without a word. No warning at all."

Was that what happened when someone could not accept blame? Turn it towards those who were not there to defend themselves, towards those who were hated for being the other, the outsider? He would not have believed it of the old Arthur but this one had hardened his heart long ago.

He would not allow Arthur to condemn sorcerers when it was Uther's fears that had murdered the people of Camelot.

With fury clawing at him, Merlin snapped, "Would you have believed me if I had sent word to you? Or to your father? Or would Uther Pendragon have just killed the messenger and looked even harder for someone else to blame?

Arthur staggered back, looking as if he'd been struck. "The people of Camelot are my responsibility. And I…." Eyes narrowed, blazing anger, denied guilt as he snarled back, "You should have found a way."

Shouting at each other again and Merlin couldn't hold it in any longer. "Your father was killing innocent people long before I arrived. Those with magic or anyone who even had a hint of the gift. People who were doing nothing wrong but existing." Hands wide, flailing about as he always did whenever he felt passionately about something, his eyes narrowed with anger, he reminded Arthur, "Or people who looked like they were guilty, even when they weren't. Gwen's father or those innkeepers who rented a sorcerer a room for a night or… need I go on?"

He grabbed the iron bars, fisting tightly around them, muscle and bone stark white, feeling the metal bruising his skin, glaring at Arthur as if he could shake some sense into him. "I wish it could have been different but Uther's paranoia was too great. He would have just gone after us that much sooner. And _you_ would have helped him."

As Arthur's face set into flushed fury, Merlin's voice went cold, clear and very, very bitter. "Perhaps you should ask yourself if you could have found a way to end it and stop trying to blame the rest of us..., Your Majesty."

Heart racing, Merlin wasn't sure if he'd gotten through or if he'd pushed Arthur past the brink of reason, into blood rage. They were both glaring at each other, breathing as if they'd run for miles, and there was the taste of defeat like ash in his mouth. But he refused to back down, just looked at Arthur, daring him to do the right thing.

Surprisingly, it was not Merlin who surrendered, but Arthur. One hand flashed up, the sound whip-sharp loud as his palm smacked the stone wall beside him. Merlin jerked back, letting go of the cell bars, startled.

Arthur just stood there, looking at his hand, grimacing in pain as he flexed his fingers. He almost seemed dazed; his voice was ragged and his words pleaded as much as battled. "Damn it, Merlin, you think I didn't try?" He pulled himself back, straightening up, breathing harshly as he stared at him. "He was the king and much as you failed to understand the obligations of nobility, I knew mine."

And with that, the anger was gone. Arthur had always had that effect on him, fury bordering on fire-ball explosive and then the defeated aftermath when silence covered a world of hurt. Merlin gentled his voice. "But now you are king and you can change things." He stepped forward, his face hard against the door, one hand reaching beyond the bars to Arthur. "Do what is right for your people and mine. Bring balance back to Camelot."

A plea for justice, for mercy and perhaps the start of a renewed friendship. Merlin wanted that connection so badly that he shivered with the ache of it. He had missed him every day of his exile and now, standing there just out of reach, he missed him more than ever.

Gazing down at Merlin's open hand and then back up into his face, Arthur shook his head. He looked dazed, conflicted and strangely vulnerable. "I can't trust you."

"Can't or won't?" With that, fingers curling as if burnt by rejection, he pulled away from the cell door, sagged against the rough stone, wrapping his arms around his chest to keep out the pain. He didn't know what else to do. Arthur's stubbornness was legendary and he didn't know how to talk to him any more.

A long, drawn-out sigh and Merlin glanced back at a strangely subdued Arthur. The man was staring off down toward the dungeons, his arms crossed, too, as if mirroring Merlin's stance and then he pushed off, nodded toward him. "You will have your say. I will be convening my advisors later today. You can tell them then what your terms are."

"Will you listen?" Surprised, Merlin tried not to hope but his chest hurt with the faint promise of new beginnings. He was sure his face was giving away his heart. It always had.

For a moment, there was silence. Arthur seemed to turn inward, said softly, "I don't know." And with that cryptic reply, he glanced once more at Merlin and then twisted around and walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

Light spilled through the glass of the Council chamber, sending shafts of brilliance into the room, across floors and walls and straight into Merlin's eyes.

He'd been escorted from the cell, a tight cluster of guards surrounding him as he stumbled his way up, barely enough time to put on his finery but he refused to go otherwise. The others at the Isle had insisted on it and he was feeling too uncertain to ignore their experience. Now, he was not-quite shoved into the room and stood there, caught in the light.

It was a cheap trick and unworthy of the old Arthur.

His vision swam for a moment and then blinking rapidly, it cleared and he could see the carved throne where Uther had once ruled his kingdom with an iron fist, the same Pendragon banners hanging from the walls, the same cold stone pillars. There had been memories here, of punishments and accusations, of grief and anger and loss. But there were good ones, too: of Arthur's protection when Merlin had done something stupid, of exchanging worried glances and swift smiles, of shared jokes and closeness, of feathered hats and the threat of stocks, of laughter and pain. When they had been friends.

Now Arthur was sitting on that same throne, looking at him with eyes opaque as lead and just as welcoming. Uther's eyes.

There was a collection of nobles around him, grey-beards and some younger men, Sir Geraint too, all staring at the sorcerer who dared to return. Merlin didn't even glance at the knights in red cloaks and the scatter of pike-ready guards. The king was prepared for anything it would seem, even an attack by someone he once trusted with his life.

His heart was caught in the pain of it. This was too much, too much but he shoved it aside, kept telling himself that he was here for his people and not to try and fight his way back into Arthur's life. It did not help that his emotions were a chaotic twist of want and desperation or that Arthur was staring at him as if he were some foe to be ground into dust beneath his boots.

His hands shaking underneath his finery, knowing he had to appear calm and in control if this was going to work, he wove his fingers together, tight enough to hurt, tight enough to remind himself to focus on the future and not on the past. His eyes on Arthur, he gave a short, well-practiced bow.

A moment passed, heavy, silent.

Hoping against hope that he wouldn't muck this up, he gathered his courage, lifting his chin and said, "My lord, thank you for this opportunity to discuss a treaty between our peoples."

The practiced words came easily; he'd had enough of rehearsals to last a lifetime but Merlin knew it wasn't the beginning that mattered so much as the ending. "There has been much blood shed on both sides but I hope that this will be a new day and a new era of peace for the people of Camelot and for those of us who once lived among you."

There was a grumble of sound, echoing off the walls. He could see that some of the nobles were whispering among themselves, vaguely interested in what he was saying and that was all to the good. But he knew, too, that there were those who would oppose the very idea of a treaty with sorcerers, who would seek to destroy whatever peace he could win here.

"We eradicated your kind from Camelot." Snarling, one older knight took a step forward. His face flushed with rage, he had a white-knuckled grip on the dagger at his belt and it was already half-pulled out, steel waiting to be used.

Merlin stood his ground. It would be easy enough to avoid the man using magic but he didn't want to make things worse than they already were.

"Sir Medraut!" Arthur said sharply, "You forget yourself."

Glaring hatred, the man stood there, hand fisted on the knife-hilt, looking as if he was going to ignore the implied threat in Arthur's voice and try and gut Merlin anyway. The moment seemed to lengthen, crystallize, a breathless instant, then with a swift glance at the king and a muttered curse, Medraut shoved the knife back into place. But as he turned away, his eyes caught Merlin's; in them was the promise of spilled blood and a slow, agonizing death.

Merlin tried not to match hate for hate. He had known of the knight from the others at the Isle; he'd been relentless in the pursuit of anyone using magic, even paying bounty hunters to bring sorcerers back alive or dead, constantly urging the destruction of their kind in Camelot. He'd been there for every execution and there were horrified whispers of things done in Uther's name by Sir Medraut. A formidable enemy.

Now was not the time for revenge, however, but a time for new beginnings. Merlin deliberately turned away, and looked at the other members of the court. He needed to remind them all of just what they had gone through in Uther's quest to destroy them. "Yes, Sir Medraut is correct. Hundreds were hunted down and killed. Your people, the people of Camelot." As he twisted around toward the king again, he could see Arthur's furious scowl and behind it a flash of shame as Merlin said, "Who should have expected justice from their king but instead they were burnt alive or had their heads chopped off."

Another growl of dissent among the nobles but Merlin ignored it. Instead, meeting Arthur's gaze, he kept his voice steady, a conversation between two people who had once been friends so long ago and were now sharing truth at last. "Those who could, escaped. Those who remained behind were afraid for their lives whether they were guilty of sorcery or not."

Apparently, Medraut wasn't about to let this rest. Before Arthur could reply, the knight stabbed his finger toward Merlin. "Pretty words but we know better. We've had nothing but death from magicians and enchanters, witches and warlocks. Filthy murderers."

Spreading his arms wide, gathering attention from the others in the room as he walked a tight circle, his voice rising in fury with every word, Medraut spat out, "Forcing people to perform unspeakable acts against their will, sending us plagues and famine, poisoning the water, monsters galloping up and down the countryside." He stopped, hatred's fire in his eyes. "And you want us to welcome you with open arms and forgiveness? Don't be absurd."

"Once sorcerers were welcomed at court. They used magic to help people. Or have you forgotten?"

Merlin was trying to keep his temper in check but it was a hard battle. He felt out of balance, endlessly waiting for Arthur to protest and yet he just sat there, letting the knight spout his filth, looking almost as if he agreed with it. It was becoming harder and harder to look at Arthur Pendragon and see the man he once knew.

"We don't have to deal with you sorcerer scum any more." Medraut laughed, a hard, brittle sound.

"But at what cost? Have you gained anything? Other than an increase in the number of executions?" Merlin sent another glance toward Arthur but the man's face was cold and blank as stone. He kept remembering the look of satisfaction on Uther's face and other members of the court when sorcerers were led to their deaths and the feasts afterwards. He couldn't help saying, "Unless, of course, you count that as entertainment."

Arthur turned furious. "Merlin, that is not what it was and you know it."

Merlin didn't know it, had watched when some seemed to revel in the horrifying spectacle. The first day he'd arrived in Camelot, Uther had killed a sorcerer and announced a celebration before the body was even cold. What else was he to think? But it wouldn't do to remind Arthur of that. Instead, he bowed his contrition. "Forgive me, sire."

"My Lord, I don't see why we have to listen to this… this sorcerer. He is probably trying to figure out how to kill us all right now. A serpent waiting to strike, hiding behind smiles and pretence." Medraut stood there, staring at Merlin, his eyes filled with contempt and behind him, there were the growing noise of whispered agreement.

"Enough!" Arthur's palm slammed down onto the throne, a sharp slap of sound.

For a moment, there was complete silence. The nobles, the guards, even old Geoffrey standing by the entryway were quiet, everyone turning to the king in surprise. He looked around, a thunderous frown cutting into his face, and then stared hard at Medraut before turning back to Merlin.

Arthur's voice was flat and unyielding, as hard as stone."All my life I have seen how magic destroys. Attacking Camelot again and again, trying to murder me or my father or the people of this land. Disease and devastation and death. Why should I believe that it would be any different now?"

"Your father started this war." Much as he tried, Merlin couldn't keep the loathing out of his voice. So much pain and he had to lay that squarely at Uther's feet. "He hated magic, wouldn't listen to reason. You know that better than anyone. He killed anyone with the slightest hint of magic, watched them screaming in the fire or cut off their heads and then celebrated the fact."

Eyes narrowed, Arthur looked thunderous. His hands, white bone and sinew stark against the dark wood, were gripping the throne so tightly it was a wonder that it did not shatter under his fingers. "Have a care, sorcerer. You will not impugn my father's honour."

"Sire, it is the truth. Denying it won't make it go away." He wanted to shake him, to make him see how it really was, not honour and justice and duty, but murder. "I was in Camelot only a few hours when I watched a man die for the crime of using magic and then King Uther declared a feast. I know you remember. You were there."

If anything, Arthur's face hardened further but he gave a tiny, reluctant nod. Merlin was relieved to see it; it meant that the old Arthur was still present under the façade of cold king, perhaps confused by the lies his father had told him but willing to listen at least.

"If their families wanted revenge, can you really blame them? If someone had murdered your father, wouldn't you have done the same?" Another reluctant nod and Arthur's hands loosened a fraction. "But I tried to protect you and your father from them, the only way I knew how. Matching magic for magic. Using my gifts, even against my own kind. Always afraid I'd be caught and killed for doing the right thing and still I tried. You have no idea..."

A thousand memories were pounding at him: the astonishment on his face as Merlin pulled him away from the sorceress's knife, drinking poison while Arthur protested, killing Sophia and her father in a desperate effort to keep his friend alive. Too many, too many memories and he had to turn away to keep from drowning in them.

"We are at war, Sire. A war that has gone on for too long. Revenge and more revenge and it never seemed to end." There was heartbreak under it all, too many deaths, too many lives ruined and more if Merlin failed. "We want it to end – for all our sakes. Before it is too late."

There was a long, chilled moment of silence. Arthur stared down at him, seeming to weigh what he had said, obviously trying to see the betrayal behind the words without success. But he didn't call for the guards or loosen his own sword for battle.

Instead, not ungently, he asked, "Why should I believe a word you say? It could be nothing but a trick."

Merlin could breathe again, was almost giddy with relief. Arthur wasn't dismissing this out of hand. There might be a chance after all. "Investigate further if you must. Look into the records of a time before Uther Pendragon started this war. See how much has changed. Talk with the old ones. They must know the truth of what I'm saying."

"Truth?" A bark of harsh laughter and Medraut was there, trying to turn the tide back into hatred. "My Lord, the truth is that what we have now works and we don't have to give anything away to our enemies."

"Then look to your enemies. The kingdoms that accept magic grow rich while your people live in fear of the next execution." Merlin's gaze was caught in Arthur's own; he wanted to plead with him, make him see that Medraut's fury was blinding them all. "You've been fighting against it for so long you don't even see the cost."

"And if we agreed to this, what do you offer in exchange?" Merlin should have known that Arthur would try and do what was right for his people.

Arthur had never seen the beauty of magic: the flutter of candleflame weaving patterns in the air, trees aided by subtle magic to grow in fantastical shapes, the delight on a child's face. Merlin had experienced all that and more at the Isle of the Blessed and among Druid folk. But beauty is not what would sway Camelot's king now but things of practicality.

"Protection from those who would seek to harm you, prediction of enemy troop movements, a shield against magical creatures. Truth-sayers in the courts. Where magic can help, healing the sick and the injured. Many things to help guard the kingdom and your people."

"And how do we know that we aren't opening ourselves up to attack?" Arthur was watching him carefully, suspicious, wholly mistrustful. Merlin would expect nothing less while they were negotiating for something so vitally important and Arthur was trying to be a good king, would be a great one in time.

Merlin shrugged off the accusation. "You don't. Any more than we can know you will promise one thing and break that promise with the next breath."

"I have never gone back on my word." Arthur drew back, his eyes flashing with sharp indignation.

"No, the man I knew never would." Looking away for a moment, not wanting to remember how often Arthur had kept his word, no matter what the cost, and how it had saved them both too many times to count, Merlin could only hope that his old friend would still be that man in the coming days. "But you are the king now. You might think it is best for your people if you lured us into a trap and tried to finish what your father started all those years ago when he tried to bury his guilt by murdering our kind. We have as much to lose as you with this treaty, maybe more."

As Arthur frowned down at him, Merlin suddenly realized he'd said too much. Hidden there in the possibilities of traps and treaties and loss, he'd brought up Uther's guilt, the true reason for the Great Purge. To know that he'd mentioned it sent a jolt of rising alarm into his chest. He was an idiot. Arthur had often called him one and he'd protested again and again, insulted by the very idea and yet it was true, a thousand times more true than he'd ever imagined. They should never have sent him to Camelot because he was a brainless idiot and he was going to muck this up. And the more he thought about what he'd just said, the more panicked he became.

Arthur would never accept that Uther's guilt had set off the murder of hundreds, that his mother's death and his father's part in it was the reason for the war between their peoples. He'd reject the treaty out of hand and Merlin's mission would be an absolute failure.

The silence was growing as Arthur stared at him, looking not a little puzzled at the way Merlin was reacting. He had to say something before things got any worse.

"Of course, that won't happen. You, my lord, are a man of honour." Swallowing hard, still flustered but keeping his panic at bay, he tried to get the focus back on the treaty. "We will need to trust each other if this war is to end. A treaty is merely the beginning but in time, we could build a new Camelot where we could all live in peace."

"Merlin..." Sometimes Arthur was as tenacious as a wild boar.

But before he could say anything further, Merlin shook his head. "The reasons for starting the war between our people aren't important any more. All I ask is that we find a way to end it."

There was a mulish set to Arthur's mouth and in the narrowed eyes. He recognized the Pendragon stubbornness there. It was not clear that he had caught onto Merlin's mistake but he knew Arthur was not stupid even if he pretended to be at times. He had to have known there was something that had upset Merlin.

Surprisingly, Arthur didn't pursue it. Instead he lifted his head and nodded toward the man near the back of the room. "Geoffrey, you have been keeping records for this kingdom for some time, long before I was born. Is what Merlin said true? Was sorcery accepted here?"

The greybeard, Geoffrey of Monmouth, had always watched him like a hawk whenever he'd invaded the library. He'd had to do that quite a lot; Arthur was always getting into trouble and it was usually Merlin who had to get him out of it again and sometimes Gauis's books weren't enough. Of course, Geoffrey would always argue, would defend his library with a kind of relentless mistrust toward anyone caught inside the doors. They'd never been friends but he knew the man would tell the truth.

"Sire, I…." Geoffrey was hesitating; that alone told him that things must have been pretty bad in Uther's final days, when a single word could land you in the stocks or in prison or dead.

"You have no reason to fear me. I want the truth, all of it."

Arthur's reassurances were enough. Geoffrey bowed slightly, folded his hands in front of him, looking around the room, his gaze flicking to Merlin before turning back toward the king. "Yes, Sire, what he said was true. Before the Great Purge, magic was practiced throughout the kingdom. There were problems on occasion. Some of the sorcerers used their powers for evil but they were kept in check by others who made sure they were caught and punished. For most, it was a time of peace and great prosperity until King Uther banned it."

"My father said that they practiced evil, said that no sorcerer could be trusted." A thunderous frown on his face, his eyes cold blue and narrowed in Geoffrey's direction, Arthur seemed furious. His voice was a sharp mixture of frustration, rage and bewilderment. "Are you calling my father a liar?"

"Of course not, Sire." Swallowing hard, the librarian straightened, holding his ground, no hesitation when he said, "However, he might have been mistaken."

There was a long slow beat of silence. Arthur looked at Merlin for a moment, his gaze measuring and opaque, then turned back to Geoffrey. "Do you know why my father said such things?"

"No, sire, only that when your mother died, he began to slaughter them without warning." The librarian bowed his head for a moment. "It was a terrible time for us all."

Another silence, this time longer, before Arthur said carefully, "And if I allow magic to return?"

Merlin's heart began to beat wildly, hoping against hope that Arthur finally understood the price they had all paid for so long, that he'd be willing to go beyond what lies his father had told him and see the truth for what it was. And that perhaps someday, he could regain some of Arthur's trust that he'd lost four years ago and they could start again.

There were whispers from some of the knights, and even from where he stood, he could hear Sir Medraut ranting under his breath but Geoffrey ignored them. "I believe it will take time but Merlin is right. It would allow Camelot to flourish as it has not for many years."

Apparently, that was too much for Medraut. "You old fool, you can't be serious."

The librarian sent the knight a scathing look but it was Arthur who said, "Geoffrey has been our trusted records master for many years and you will treat him with respect or I will have you removed. Do you understand me, Medraut?"

His eyes full of anger, still the man gave an abrupt bow toward the king. "My apologies, my lord."

Arthur turned away, didn't even acknowledge him. But the whispers among the other nobles and knights didn't fade until Sir Geraint stepped forward. "Sire, the people will need to be persuaded if magic were to return. They have been taught to fear it. Fear breeds hatred, my lord, and there could be reprisals."

"From the sorcerers?" Arthur said, sending a measured nod towards Merlin.

Geraint just shook his head. "No, sire, from the people of Camelot. They may react badly if sorcerers were to return. They might try to take justice into their own hands."

"Would our guards be able to handle any problems that might arise?" Perhaps Arthur had never thought that his people might have their own reasons for hating magic, other than Merdaut's obvious hostility, but he would seem that he was considering it now.

"Yes, my lord." Sir Geraint seemed worried but not overly so.

It was a relief. Merlin had to admit that he hadn't thought it to be a problem, hadn't even considered it but as long as some of the knights understood what needed to be done, it would not end treaty negotiations between their peoples.

With that, the hall fell silent, all eyes on the king.

But Arthur was focused, his whole attention on Merlin. Leaning back, watching him with narrowed eyes. A predator looking at prey, looking for weakness, looking for vulnerabilities to exploit. "And what is in this for you?"

The question surprised him. "Me…? I'm here for the treaty, nothing more."

Arthur looked like he didn't believe him. Perhaps he'd had so much of nobles and knights trying to manipulate him for gain that he couldn't see anything else. Perhaps he still thought of Merlin as someone he couldn't trust; in a way, it was true. He had just lied to Arthur after all.

Merlin did want something, more than just a treaty. He wanted to come home.

Eyes turning hard and cold, Arthur studied him again, looking at him as if he were dirt beneath his boot, looking as if he knew Merlin had lied to him. Waving one hand, brushing aside the unspoken questions that haunted them both, Arthur said, "The sorcerers, then. They must want more than this. What else do they hope to gain?"

"Sire, there is nothing else. All we ask that you let magic come back to Camelot and not try and hunt down our kind when we use it for good. You are getting the better part of the bargain."

But Merlin felt off-balance again. Arthur said nothing for the longest time, just stared at him with such intensity that he could feel his face heating. He didn't know what else to say; he'd tried not to muck it up but with the king looking at him like that, he was sick with dread.

Finally, Arthur stood up, all savage strength and fury, his hand fisting white on the hilt of his sword, and strode down the length of the chamber toward Merlin. Deliberate steps, leather scraping stone and his voice harsh as he closed the distance between them.

"When you were here last, I thought I knew you. A clumsy, kind-hearted country boy. The worst servant I ever had but someone who made me laugh. Occasionally someone who made me think. And all the time, you were hiding the fact that you were a sorcerer." He stopped, an arm's length away, forever out of reach. "Fooling everyone, especially me."

"Arthur, I never…." His heart had broken the day Arthur discovered his secret. So much pain, so much loss. But this was worse. "Believe what you want. It won't make any difference."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you now." His mouth flattened, jaw clenched tight and he looked away for a second, as if he couldn't bear to see Merlin's face. Then straightening, looking so much like Uther that Merlin flinched back, Arthur said sharply, "There is something else and I want to know what it is. Otherwise, I will throw you from the court and deny your petition without further discussion."

"Arthur, please." He didn't know what to say, what to do. It had gone wrong so fast he couldn't catch his breath.

"No, I want to know why you are really here, why this treaty is so important. It's not just about returning here or doing magic tricks for your friends. There are other kingdoms where your people could go, where magic is accepted, even rewarded." Cold blue eyes bore into his, relentless, powerful, royal. "You want Camelot for some reason and I want to know what it is."

"Arthur…." He looked away, down at the finery glittering at his wrists and the fine cloth, unable to bring himself to see the hatred written on Arthur's face.

"And if you lie to me again, I will gut you where you stand."

He couldn't... he couldn't do this. He didn't have the fine words to turn this into something safe or amusing enough that Arthur would laugh his concerns away. Nor did he have the ability to lie so well that he wouldn't be caught at it – and he never wanted to lie to him again anyway; the look of betrayal on Arthur's face that day when he'd found out Merlin was a sorcerer still haunted his dreams.

He couldn't stop shaking.

His fingers were busy with worry, entangled in his wrist bracelets or plucking at his clothes; he could feel the flush of heat on his face. He was a fool, a prize idiot that should never have come to Camelot to negotiate anything. It had been a wonder that he'd lasted as long as he had without stammering out everything like the clumsy country bumpkin he was.

"Well?" Arthur was growing impatient.

"I…," he stumbled over his words, trying to find a way of explaining it that didn't sound like a tale told by a madman or a fool - or a liar. "I…I don't know if you will believe me, sire. It isn't… it isn't to take over the kingdom or force anyone to….it's for us all, not just for Camelot or those who practice magic but for everyone."

A fool indeed. He was losing it, losing any semblance of intelligence in trying to explain it clearly. Arthur was staring at him, the frown on his face as sharp as a blade, looking as if he couldn't believe he was wasting his time listening to such an idiot.

He had to calm down, explain it clearly before Arthur grew too angry to listen. Taking a long deep breath to clear his head, Merlin started again. "Magic is more than just… it is in the bones of the earth and in the air we breathe; it is everywhere. It was here before we were born and will be here after we've gone. And when you change that, when magic is no longer allowed, the world becomes unbalanced. More and more until the pressures build to bring things back into order." He looked into Arthur's eyes, willing him to believe what he was saying. Because it was the truth. "We need to bring it back, before it is too late."

"Now it is threats. It didn't take long." Medraut couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice.

Luckily, Arthur ignored the man. "What happens if we don't?"

"Sire, you are meant to unite the lands of Albion, to hold back the barbarians and the destruction that would certainly follow. But you need magic to achieve that. If you don't restore the balance of nature, the darkness that will fall on Camelot, on all of Albion, will be everlasting."

"We can't believe a word he says. First we'd be one big happy family if we let them back in and now he threatens the kingdom if we don't go along with it." Merdraut waved his hand in the air and then brought it down to grasp his knife-hilt again, contemptuous disbelief in every movement. "How convenient."

Apparently, Arthur had had enough. "Sir Merdraut, your council has always been welcome but you go too far. Like it or not, Merlin is here as envoy and you will treat him with respect."

"Forgive me, my lord. I am concerned about his true motives." Another short bow as Medraut tried to look contrite and failed.

"Yes, I more than you, I think." Sending the man a scathing look, Arthur turned away, ignoring them all, and sat back down on his throne, silence following in his wake. Thoughtful, his face shuttered and stony, he looked around the room, catching every eye with some message that eluded Merlin and finally, after a few moments he said, "Merlin and I have things to discuss. Is there anything else any of you would like to add?"

There was a scatter of head shakes and Arthur seemed to take that in stride. "Very well." He turned to the librarian and gestured him closer. "Geoffrey, delve into the records. I want an accounting of the state of Camelot before the Great Purge, about six months before it began. Food production, birth and death rates, problem areas, magical spells gone wrong, that sort of thing. If you need assistance, Geraint will make sure you get the people you need."

Geoffrey stated to bow but stopped, startled, when Arthur continued, "I expect a report tomorrow at the latest."

"Sire, I'm not sure that is possible." The librarian looked shaken but Arthur waved his concerns away.

"I'm sure you are up to the challenge." And with that, Geoffrey could only nodded and step back.

Arthur wasn't done. As he lifted his hand to Sir Geraint, the knight was suddenly by his side and listening intently. "Geraint, give our records keeper all the help he needs. On a less urgent mission, I want the remainder of your men, those not on patrol or already assigned duties, to start going through the trial records of all of the magic users we've executed in the last year and investigate further. I'm not expecting a report immediately but I want to know if the Bronwyn case was the only instance of a false accusation or if there is more to this."

Shifting from side to side, clearly uncomfortable, Geraint glanced up at the court, scanning the room and then when his eyes caught Merlin's, he stopped a moment, flushing, looking almost ill. A heartbeat later, he turned away and nodded down at Arthur. "Sire, as soon as we found that she was innocent, I started checking into other trials. Two more were proved to be innocent as well. Unfortunately, they were executed last month. But we will keep digging."

"What is this? The girl was tried and found guilty. Are you saying that was not true? That she was innocent?" Medraut sounded upset. Merlin couldn't tell if it was because a girl was almost executed or because she was not.

"Bronwyn was falsely accused and has been released." Arthur was still frowning, but around his mouth, guilt seemed to settle in.

Even Sir Medraut seemed to realize what the king was saying, that those who had already died were guiltless, that they'd murdered innocents in the name of justice. "But that means…."

"Yes, it does." Arthur was already turning away, saying, "For now, the council is dismissed." Several of the knights looked surprised at that, milling about before slowly moving toward the door; even Geraint seemed unsure, glancing first at Merlin and then back at the king. "Sir Geraint, you and your men are dismissed as well. Merlin will remain here."

Geraint opened his mouth, perhaps to object to the situation but instead it was Medraut who shoved himself forward. "Sire, I must protest. He could be an assassin or…."

"Medraut, you have already been dismissed." Cold as winter ice, Arthur's voice cut across his tirade, and as the man sputtered disapproval, he said, "Did I not make myself clear? Or perhaps you would like some time in the dungeons to think about your position here."

"Yes, my lord, perfectly clear." Medraut blanched, must have realized that he had overstepped his bounds, and he backed away quickly. But as he caught up with Geraint and they walked into the corridor beyond, Merlin could hear him berating the knight. "You can't seriously think about leaving him here alone with that monster. You know..." As the doors clanged shut, whatever else the noble was going to say was cut off.

And then there was silence.

"Medraut means well but he lost his wife and child in the plague five years ago. He hasn't been the same since." Arthur turned toward him, his face scowling questions. "You remember. The one with the avank. Nimueh's little gift to Camelot."

It had been a bad time. People were dying and Merlin, afraid for his life, had been unable to use his magic to save most of them. He still felt guilty about it, even after all this time. Shoulders slumping a bit, he said softly, "I was just sorry we couldn't have found the reason sooner. So many people were lost."

"Yes, so many." Arthur leaned forward, his voice filled with hard accusation. "Did you know about it ahead of time?"

"What? No!" Merlin was horrified that he could even think such a thing. "Gauis and I..., well mostly Gauis, found out how to destroy it but it needed magic to work. And I had to hide what I was doing but no, we helped you kill it as soon as we knew how."

Arthur looked away, the muscles in his jaw working and the frown cutting into his skin, his hand stretched too taut over white bone and sinew clenched on the hilt of his sword. He looked angry and lost and entirely alone.

"I can't tell any more." The whisper was rough and low, the merest thread moving the air. Merlin didn't think he was supposed to hear it; it seemed to come from somewhere deep within, beyond the walls of anger, where sorrow dwelled. But in the instant between one breath and the next, Arthur must have realized that he'd shown too much of confusion and vulnerability and the ache of lost chances. His voice hardened back into stone. "I can't tell whether you are lying or not. Whether behind that idiotic face of yours, there is an evil plot to bring down Camelot or you are telling the truth."

Not wanting to lose whatever connection they had, hoping to find that their friendship hadn't been lost forever and they could make a new beginning, Merlin said gently, "What does your heart tell you?"

A sharp brittle laugh. "The heart lies more than you do."

Before Merlin could protest the implications, Arthur rose and began to circle him, slowly. Fierce stares and the sound of boot heels clicking on stone, he felt as if he were prey again. It didn't help that Arthur kept one hand on his sword or that he looked every inch a king about to condemn a sorcerer to death. "How do you know about this so-called future? Did Morgana tell you?"

"She sees true. She has for as long as I've known her." Sometimes too true. Merlin still remembered the screams when she'd woken up from visions almost too horrifying to describe and even Gwen could not comfort her. Visions about a future where Arthur refused to accept what they were offering and all of Albion was ablaze.

But the future could be changed with enough forewarning. Morgana was good at that, too.

"She accused me to driving you away, of being a fool, of being so caught up in duty that I couldn't see what I really needed." Arthur's mouth worked, as if there was bitterness under his tongue; his eyes were flashing annoyance, too. In Merlin's time there, Morgana and Arthur had always fought, wielding words like swords between them, hard, reckless, willing to cut and not knowing the cost.

"I had no idea what she was talking about, of course. Impossible woman, always trying to goad me into doing something she thought I should be doing. I swear she enjoyed it half the time. Maybe more than half." He stopped for a moment, frowning down at the floor, and then up to catch Merlin's gaze. "But after she'd gone, I found the letter she'd left behind. Descriptions of her dreams. They came true..., well, mostly true." His voice had softened but then he cleared his throat, shrugging off the memories. "After the first time, I grew more cautious about dismissing them."

"Please don't dismiss this one." He wanted to beg Arthur to accept all that he was offering: the treaty, his friendship, the hope that they could start again, everything. But he knew it would be useless. The king of Camelot would do what he would do and no amount of persuasion would change that.

"And if I agree to your treaty, I will need to know that the use of sorcery won't plunge our kingdom into chaos again." Arthur was still staring at him, still daring him to protest.

Merlin tried to keep the pain out of his voice. "Is that what your father told you?"

"Sorcerers were of one mind, that they practiced only evil, that they could not be trusted." It was a litany that Merlin had heard many times before but emotion seemed to sharpen Arthur's voice; it cut through the air with vicious precision. "I trusted a sorcerer and he lied to me. Every single day."

Anger surged abruptly, flushing his face with heat. And then Merlin was shouting, was gesturing wildly, his hands flailing about in some kind of madman's dance and he couldn't stand it any more. He'd taken enough blame for something that he had had to do to survive, that had shamed him every time he'd looked in Arthur's eyes - for the lies that still haunted him.

"Yes, I lied to you about my magic. Of course I did."

Merlin was all but stamping his feet in annoyance. Damn the prat for not understanding what he'd had to go through every single second of his time in Camelot. Voice rising as his movements only grew more agitated, he spat out, "I was afraid of your father and what you would do if you found out. What did you expect me to do, tell you so that you could chop off my head?" He thrust his head forward, throat tight with pain. "And don't tell me that I should have trusted you because when you did find out, you tried to kill me. Nimueh is good at manipulating people but I didn't think you'd believe her over me."

"Once a liar, always a liar." Arthur looked almost satisfied, as if he'd deliberately pushed Merlin into losing his temper.

It reminded Merlin too much of the past. Then it had been comfortable, like some kind of unspoken game between them, the give and take of good-natured insults and shared laughter at the end of the day. Now it just hurt.

He snapped, "Is that another Pendragon truth?"

"Yes! No…, I don't know." Apparently, whatever Arthur had been playing at, he wasn't any more. And instead of shouting, his voice dulled, the pain just bleeding through. "My father always taught me to hold firm against magic, that it corrupts all it touches. And then you come along, my bumbling idiot of a servant. I learned to trust you and you betrayed me."

Suddenly, the anger that had been burning under his skin seeped away, leaving him empty and so very tired. "Arthur…."

"It doesn't matter." Shaking his head, Arthur turned away, folding his arms over his chest, looking down and studying the floor with single-minded intensity. "We will require steps to be taken to avoid the kind of situation that brought on the Great Purge in the first place."

Focused on regaining his equilibrium, at first, Merlin had not realized what Arthur was talking about. But when he finally caught on, he was shocked. He'd been so afraid of him finding out the truth about his mother and what had triggered the Purge that he'd not thought that Arthur had already known about it. This changed so much.

Merlin slumped in relief. "Then you do know the reason for it. I didn't think that Uther would tell you."

"Of course he told me." Arthur was scowling again, looking as though he was about to throttle him, as though Merlin had insulted his honour and his father's name and he'd need to physically remedy the situation, with violence if necessary. "I was his son, after all. I had a right to know."

"I'm so glad to hear it. I was afraid you were going to ask me about it when I slipped up earlier." Merlin sent Arthur a quick, relieved smile and a half-shrug. "Gauis thought you might react badly if you found out the truth but if your father told you, then that's alright then. Gauis thought...," He slowed to a stop, realizing that something was wrong with the way Arthur was staring at him, looking as though he thought Merlin had lost his mind. "When did the king tell you?"

"On his deathbed. He said I needed to know the truth."

Merlin couldn't believe that Arthur would have kept executing people once he'd found out. Something didn't add up. Frowning and very puzzled, he said slowly, "If you knew about your father and Nimueh and the bargain they struck, why is magic still banned? Surely you must know that it wasn't her fault."

"Of course, it was her fault. She was a sorceress, bent on doing evil, killing innocent people without a second thought. When the others rose up with her and tried to take over the kingdom, my father was forced to kill them all."

Merlin just stared at him, his mind going to pieces again. He had been a complete idiot; he'd misjudged the situation so thoroughly that he didn't even know where to begin to make it right again. His throat tight with dread, he opened his mouth to protest, to backtrack somehow but all he said was "Oh."

Arthur was staring at him as if he were a dull idiot who couldn't understand the first thing about running a kingdom, as if he were still the foolish manservant who stumbled and bumbled his way through life, gathering laundry and disasters with equal ease.

"Oh?" Arthur repeated, the sound drawn out, mocking, sarcastic. "Aren't you going to refute it? Protest that she wasn't evil?" When Merlin didn't reply, just stood there blinking panic, Arthur's eyes narrowed and he said sharply, "Or are you going to tell me that my father was a liar? That he'd told me some made-up story on his _deathbed_?"

Merlin flinched back at the fury in his voice. "Arthur, you must know that I never talked to Nimueh after that day in Ealdor. Even after I found out from Gaius, she can twist the truth so easily and I didn't want to believe it."

The enraged glare Arthur sent him had Merlin stumbling back and he kept babbling, hoping that something, anything coming out of his mouth would make it right somehow. "I shouldn't be the one to tell you. Gauis would be a much better choice and I think he would come if you asked. He could answer all of your questions since he was there from the very beginning."

Arthur's voice was winter-cold, daring him to disagree. "Gauis always sided with my father when I asked him about it. Why would you think he'd say anything different now?"

"Uther threatened to kill him." Merlin shook his head, miserable and worried beyond all measure. He never wanted to be the one to tell Arthur that his father had been the reason for this horror; even before this mess, when Merlin had been a trusted friend, he couldn't have done it. And now this, this would shatter any hope of reconciliation. "You aren't ready for this. You are too mistrustful and it… it could make things worse. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Merlin…." Insistent, frowning furiously at him, apparently he was not going to let Merlin talk his way out of it.

"It isn't important why the war started anyway as long as we stop it." He cut through whatever else Arthur was going to say, trying to turn the conversation back to the treaty. "For that, I need to know what other reassurances you need if we are going to come to some kind of agreement."

"Don't change the subject. I need to know what you are babbling about." Sharp, inflexible, a warning.

It only made Merlin more frantic. Trying to keep his hands still, trying to ignore the rapid thud of his heart or the misery catching in his throat, he muttered, half to himself, "They should have sent someone else. I'm just going to muck this up."

"Well, you are doing a good job of that so far." So typically Arthur that it made Merlin ache with loss. "What did Gaius say?"

It was clear that he wasn't going to give up and all Merlin could do was try and make the best of it, soften the blow and hope that Arthur would understand. "Your father blamed Nimueh for your mother's death. But it wasn't that simple."

"My mother...?" He looked taken aback, thoroughly puzzled.

"He wanted an heir, you see, so very badly." Merlin was wringing his hands again, wiping his sweaty palms against the fine fabric but it didn't help. Nothing did. Nothing would.

"Yes, she died giving birth to me," Arthur said slowly, his face twisted as if he were talking to an idiot and regretting every word.

Merlin's chest hurt so much that he thought he might faint from it; he felt sick, too but he knew he had to finish it. "I suppose in a way it was Nimueh's fault. She should never have agreed to it. She knew the cost."

"You are making no sense at all, you know that, Merlin." More annoyance, growing ever more impatient, his arms crossed, his mouth twisting into something bitter and sharp.

It hurt to look at Arthur and know that it would never been the same again, no matter what Merlin had hoped. He knew that he'd never be forgiven for this.

Still trembling, still fighting the taste of defeat in his mouth and prickle of tears behind his eyes, Merlin murmured, "Nimueh was a friend of your father's and a powerful sorceress, a priestess of the Old Religion. She could mirror life and death but in order to create a life, a child, there had to be balance. A death for a life. That was the cost."

He looked away, couldn't bear to see the anger blazing in Arthur's eyes and so he stared down at his own hands busily tearing at the fine trimmings along his wrist, his fingers caught in the threads. "Gauis tried to talk him out of it but he wouldn't listen. He was always so stubborn, Gauis said, even when he was young."

Miserable, desperate to get past this, Merlin swallowed against a throat closed, against a breath that wouldn't come. "I guess he must have thought any death would do but it doesn't work that way."

"What are you saying?" He could hear Arthur, the confusion in his voice, the growing fury weaving through it.

Merlin just shook his head, trying to finish before he broke. "When you were born and your mother died, Uther blamed Nimueh and her magic, although he was just as guilty as she was. He pushed Nimueh into it after all. Gauis said he raged for days and then he gathered up everyone who had ever used magic and slaughtered them where they stood. The young and the old, hedgewitches and sorcerers, warlocks and seers. Everyone he could find. Nimueh got away but not before she saw her family die. So many."

Blinking down at his fingers busily destroying the fabric at his wrists, utterly miserable, Merlin said softly, "If Uther hadn't been so stubborn about getting a son, your mother might not have died or if he had only realized…."

"Are you accusing my father of murdering my mother?"

Arthur's voice was almost unrecognizable, choked with a loathing and a fury so deep that there were no words to describe it. "Because if you are, I will kill you where you stand."

Stepping closer, there was a sword gleaming death in his hand, its blade weaving a bit as if Arthur was holding himself back by the slightest of threads.

Broken, Merlin could only whisper, "I don't think he knew. He wanted what he wanted and he never asked the true cost."

The sword was pointed at Merlin's heart and he didn't have the strength left for defence, only stood there as his world shattered around him, waited for Arthur to lunge forward and end his life. "You can send for Gauis and ask him or Geoffrey might have guessed the truth. I know you won't believe me. Why should you?" Blinking back tears, he could only say, "I'm sorry, Arthur, truly I am."

Black despair and grief mixing in an endless, terrible moment, sinking into his skin, into the very centre of him. Arthur was standing there, sword swaying, then he slowly inched closer, stalking him as if he were some kind of crazed and dangerous animal that needed to be exterminated before it was too late, only stopping as the blade tip touched the place above Merlin's heart.

Merlin could almost feel the cold steel against his skin, feel the tremble of Arthur's hand upon the sword, feel his once-friend's loathing with every beat of his heart. But all he could do was wait for the strike. And prayed to all the gods that it would be quick.

But it never came.

"I've always known you were a liar but this goes beyond anything I would have believed of you."

The sword slipped away as Arthur stepped back but Merlin could see how much the effort cost him. There was exhaustion there and so much pain that it was as if Arthur had been the one who had been gutted.

Without taking his eyes off him, he yelled for the guards and when they arrived a moment later, King Arthur Pendragon said flatly, "Take this _person_ back to his cell. I'll decide later what I want done with him."

Merlin did not resist.


	6. Chapter 6

It was three long days in the dungeon, waiting for Arthur's decision, waiting to see if magic would be allowed to return or if Merlin would have to go back to the Isle and admit defeat – with all that entailed. He tried not to shudder at the implications. If Arthur refused to accept their terms and threw him out of Camelot or worse tried to have him killed, the disaster that would surely follow would damn them for all eternity.

He had to make sure that his mission would not end in failure. Everything depended on it.

It's just that he couldn't think of how to do that, not with how spectacularly he'd mucked things up. Arthur's reaction to the revelations of his birth had been explosive, although Merlin couldn't blame him for it. But in the last few days, the man had shown no signs of changing his mind or even asking for clarification. It was as if he'd already decided what he was going to do and was now just waiting for the right time to strike. Another sign that this Arthur was not the man he'd once known; the old Arthur would have acted first and regretted it later.

However, Merlin was not completely ignored. The guards never came inside the cell and although Geraint would sometimes come down to the dungeon, looking almost guilty and ask if he needed anything, Merlin wasn't that uncomfortable. The mice were gone and he'd used magic to soften the straw mat.

Arthur, too, would appear at odd times, the middle of the night or just after dawn or once when the single meal of the day was delivered, and would stand there outside the cell, watching him with intense, furious eyes.

He was too intimidated to say anything; they'd never been good with words anyway and they had only led him into ruin. So while Arthur stared down at him, he just looked back, silent, waiting with unspoken grief for a final reckoning.

Then when Arthur had seen enough or deliberated enough or wrestled with whatever had been driving him to seek Merlin out, he would turn around and walk away.

* * *

By the fourth day, Merlin was beginning to get restless; he refused to say he was anxious. He'd always been curious about the world, learning to read at an early age and scouring through the few books his mother had had or else had roamed outside, exploring the hills around Ealdor, using the excuse to experiment with his magic far from prying eyes.

Now, he was stuck in the cell for the foreseeable future, admittedly by his own choice but still it was not something he'd want to continue for much longer. He tried to be patient but the enforced inactivity and the increasingly worrisome silence about the treaty were heavy burdens.

 _'Merlin.'_

Yet another burden to bear. Over the past few days, much as he'd tried to ignore him, the Dragon had grown more and more vocal, making strident demands to be freed or else berating him for being a fool by not taking matters into his own hands and doing something before it was too late. For a moment, Merlin wondered if he shouldn't escape just to shut the Dragon up.

Instead he swallowed his annoyance, dusting his hands over his tunic and said, "Yes, I know I'm a disappointment, Yes, I know they should have sent someone else. Yes, I tried to talk them out of it but they insisted it had to be me." He waved his hand in the general direction of the cell door, knowing that the Dragon couldn't see him but it made him feel better somehow. "If you have a problem with that, go annoy them instead."

 _'Merlin, the time grows short. Your inaction...'_

He'd heard it too many times before. Merlin cut him off. "Is making things worse. Yes, I know. You've told me that yesterday and the day before and let's not forget last night while I was trying to sleep."

Frustrated, tired and worried more than he'd like to admit, he was beginning to think that maybe the slimy reptile was right. Perhaps his remaining in the cell was just a sign of weakness; perhaps he should have been stronger or more decided or done something to show the court that he meant business.

Or perhaps the sorcerers at the Isle should have been smarter than this and sent someone else to deal with Arthur Pendragon.

 _'If you would listen, young warlock, I would not need to remind you of what you already know.'_

"If I use magic to show off just how powerful I am, what good will it do? It might make me feel better, but in Arthur's eyes, it would be an act of aggression." He scrubbed one hand over his face, knowing he'd already told Kilgarahh this a half-dozen times and been ignored but he tried once more. If nothing else but to remind himself just what was at stake. "It would make him look like a fool in front of his nobles and that would only make things worse than they already are. He'd never forgive me."

 _'Instead he locks you in a dungeon and ignores you.'_

How the Dragon could manage to convey his disdain through mind speech was beyond him but Merlin was getting more annoyed by the moment. "Arthur doesn't ignore me. He visits at least once a day."

 _'He doesn't say a word. What else would you call it?'_

A sniff of draconic contempt seemed to echo in Merlin's head. The insult he could accept but the implication that Arthur didn't care about him at all, that he was nothing to the man, that their friendship had been a lie, just set his teeth on edge.

Ignoring the fury beginning to build in his chest, he snapped, "Tactical advantage. He's trying to unsettle me in order to see what I'll do next."

 _'This will not end well.'_

As if he didn't know that, as if he needed to hear it again.

"No, I don't believe it will. But I'm going to try to make it right anyway."

That shut up the damnable annoyance in his head for a few moments. Kilgarahh was the most selfish, focused, and belligerent creature he'd ever met and once he decided to pursue something, he would use every trick he'd gathered in the last thousand years to get his way.

 _'Young warlock, you must free me.'_

"So you have reminded me. Over and over again." He scrubbed at his face, then tilted his head back, looking up through the cell window at the birds wheeling in joyous flight high above, listening to the sounds of bright life going on out there, wishing he could be a part of it. Hoping to be part of it again someday.

But for now, instead of roaming the streets of Camelot, free and welcome, sharing laughter and quiet times with friends, he was listening to a petulant dragon berating him.

Merlin let out a long sigh."You know as well as I do that the balance of the world is unravelling. Until magic is restored to Camelot, you must remain here."

 _'If I were free, remaining in Camelot would be no hardship. I would help matters along.'_

The sound of that made his skin crawl; Kilgarahh's voice was laced with menace, an undertone of revenge held in check and a lust for blood soaking through. Dragons may be creatures of wonder and magic but he had been prisoner, betrayed and alone, for too long. He could not be trusted, not without someone to hold him in check and Merlin was not powerful enough for that, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

"Don't bother playing games with me. I know you too well." He leaned back against the rough wall, looking up again at the sky, the colour and intensity of it trapped by iron bars – as they all were trapped, by chains or a father's paranoia or choices made long ago.

 _'You condemn me so easily then? We are kin, after all.'_

Closing his eyes, wanting to forget what had brought them to this moment, already weary of the argument, Merlin said softly, "Yes, we are kin. I won't deny it. But I can't let you or anyone else hurt the people of Camelot or Arthur even if it means my own life. I won't."

 _'Perhaps, Emrys, the choice won't be yours.'_

Damn cryptic lizard. "What is that supposed to mean?" Merlin said, sharply.

But there was only silence.

* * *

He had just finished his meagre meal when a phalanx of guards appeared at the cell door. Merlin stood abruptly, brushed futilely at his tunic, sending bits of straw and the remnants of bread crumbs flying, and tried not to look too concerned. He'd be expected something for a while, a couple of days ago actually, but at least they didn't have swords drawn and ready for battle.

Behind them, Arthur, dressed in red and gold, a heavy crown on his head, looked about as approachable as a headman's axe. His face, blank as stone, gave nothing away, but his eyes were cold. One white-knuckled hand was resting on the pommel of his sword, the other curled tight at his side.

Heart pounding wildly, Merlin tried not to worry but it didn't look good. He gazed up at his old friend, trying to find some kind of connection, anything that would break through the wall between them but Arthur just stood there, staring down at him. A beat of quiet, a breathless moment before a storm's first strike. Both of them waiting, waiting.

Finally, Arthur stepped forward, the guards falling away to either side of him, and gesturing for one of them to open the door. No Geraint to protest, there was only the sound of jangling keys, the off-pitched grind of iron swinging back and Merlin's own heart beating.

Boots heels slapping the stone, echoing in the cell, the noise hard, deliberate.

Arthur stopped an arm's length away. "It would seem that you were correct about the executions."

Merlin would have smiled at that, relieved that Arthur had actually had his accusations investigated so thoroughly, but he knew it would only make things worse. Instead, he bowed slightly, acknowledgement in his eyes."I'm sorry. I know how much it must pain you to know that your father…," he hesitated, knowing Arthur would react badly but knowing, too, that it needed to be said, "sent innocents to die."

Frown thunderous, looking as if he wanted to tear Merlin apart for saying such a thing, Arthur started forward, one fist raised to strike. He was snarling at him, too, fury and guilt and a thousand other things warring in his eyes, "You will not speak of my father in that way. You have no right."

All Merlin could do was jerk back, trying to move out of the way.

But instead of hitting him, the king stopped abruptly, scowling surprise at Merlin's startled face, then down at his own fist, clenched tight. Standing there a moment, his breathing harsh in the cell, Arthur seemed to gather himself and deliberately opened his hand, letting it fall to his side.

"Geoffrey has informed me that the kingdom did well in the years before magic was banned. And where magic is allowed, the neighbouring kingdoms are flourishing." Calm, controlled, almost conversational although he could see how much it was costing Arthur to admit it. "Just as you said."

Swallowing against a throat suddenly tight with loss, Merlin said softly, "I know you don't want to believe me but…."

"You lied to me every single damn day so forgive me if I don't believe you now."

It was meant to hurt. And it did, so very much. Merlin supposed it always would.

This time, though, he didn't want to strike back, didn't want to rage and tear and try and get through that thick skull of Arthur's – as if he ever could. Instead, his voice gentled into regret. "Every day I thought it might be my last; every day I worried that my friends might be tortured or killed if I were found out; every day I had to face you and lie to you and it just about destroyed me to do it but I had no choice. You needed me." Shrugging, he looked away, up into the bright sky, watching the birds fly free. "Just as I needed you."

"To know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all," Uther's words but underneath it all, Merlin could almost hear the barest hint of confusion, of longing twisted up in the remnants of rage and disbelief. And then Arthur turned back into stone. "But I don't know yours."

He couldn't fault him for mistrust but he would have wished for something more between them. Merlin sent him a quick lift of his mouth, a wry smile, small and fragile and so very fleeting. "You always knew my heart, Arthur. You just didn't want to believe what you saw there."

Taking a step forward, still wary, seemingly suspicious of everything Merlin said or did or thought, and yet he asked, "And what was that?"

"That I was always meant to be by your side. That I could never let anyone hurt you, even at the price of my own life." Merlin knew that his devotion was shining through for all to see but he didn't care, only wanted Arthur to know the truth, that his heart had been freely given to him and him alone. "That even if you never wanted me to be your friend, I was always yours. That I always will be."

Breathless, he waited for Arthur to say something, do something, anything that would let him know there was still hope, that somehow he'd gotten through walls built on hatred and lies.

For a moment, there was a softness in Arthur's eyes, the remnants of a bond built long ago when they'd shared laughter and adventures and love's warmth. A glimpse of the man he'd missed for all those years.

But the softness turned to puzzlement and then Arthur blinked away any trace of boyish vulnerability. Straightening, sending a fleeting glance at the guards, by the time he'd turned back to Merlin, his face was twisted into a hard scowl, his mouth pursed with decision. "Go home, Merlin. I give you your life but leave and never return."

"Arthur, don't do this. Please..." He couldn't believe this was happening.

"A day to get out of Camelot and then your life is forfeit." Hard, flat, loud enough for the guards and then Arthur leaned forward, murmured, "In payment for what we once were. If you are truly my friend, don't ever come back."

His heart shattered to dust and he wanted to curl into the hole left there and let sorrow take him, but he couldn't, he dared not. There was one last task and then he'd mourn. "Arthur, please, the treaty? Should I send someone else to negotiate? Gaius, maybe? Or someone else? Talesin has some skill and I told them that I would just muck it up. They should have sent anyone else but me. But you can't..."

Frantic, he knew he was babbling, but he kept on even after Arthur shook his head and turned to leave.

He scrambled after him, catching at one gilt-rough sleeve, holding on when Arthur tried to pull away, "Please, I can't just leave. The treaty is too important. Don't say no just because it's me." Warmth under his hand and it brought back so many memories, too many. "Please, Arthur, I have to make it right."

With a sharp wrench, Arthur pulled away. "See that he is given a horse and escorted out of the palace," he snarled at the guards as he began to climb the steps. "It will be on your heads if he returns."

It couldn't end like this. Merlin shouted after him, his voice rough with grief. "Is that it then? Are you going to destroy your own kingdom because I lied to you?"

Arthur stopped a moment, not looking at him, half-twisted back so that Merlin could see his profile. Tension etched lines around his eye and mouth, a muscle clenching near his jaw. "Send someone else then. It matters little to me but make sure it is not that lying witch…" His voice raw, Arthur turned to go. "Or you."

And as he watched Arthur walk away for the last time, Merlin broke all over again.


	7. Chapter 7

It was easy enough to lose the guards. They had been heading north, almost through the Darkling Woods, far enough away from the castle, when Merlin asked to rest for an hour or so. The knight in charge was reluctant to stop, his duty clear and he was decidedly nervous around a sorcerer but Merlin had pleaded exhaustion and finally refused to go any further.

The men tried their best, though. Keeping him surrounded while he slid off his horse, their hands on sword hilts and knives and muttering dire warnings, Merlin knew that most prisoners would not have been able to escape. But he had a mission to complete. As he stumbled a step or two away from his mount, they drew back, fearful.

It was enough. " _Bedyrne mé_."

There was bedlam around him. Swords swinging and one clever guard had flung up dirt into the air as if trying to discover where he'd gone. But the concealment spell worked its own wonders and he walked quietly away from the frightened horses and the shouting. Another, less understanding sorcerer might have even found it amusing to watch but Merlin knew they'd suffer for their kindness; Uther would have made them pay with their lives. He wasn't sure if Arthur would be any different. He hoped so but hopes were few and far between in these last few days and his heart was heavy enough to doubt.

He waited a long time. The knight and his guards were thorough and persistent and it was only when the light was beginning to fade that he finally called back his men and made camp. Merlin moved further into the woods, until he could no longer see the firelight and only then whispered, " _Astýre mé to æge éadgiefe_!"

A fast wind in the treetops, the sound of leaves beating furiously against each other and then it quieted into the murmur of water against stone and soft voices. The Isle of the Blessed.

He had arrived home.

They were waiting for him, Nimueh and Gaius and Talisen, standing there by the entrance, the flickering torches painting their faces in red and black, looking as evil as Arthur would have liked to have claimed of them all. It was a trick of the light, of course; with the exception of Nimueh with whom he still refused to speak, he'd learned to respect the sorcerers at the Isle, even if he didn't always agree with them.

Now, Merlin moved past the trio into the reception room nearest the gate. Inside there was a warm fire to ward off the night chill and the chairs scattered around held furs and soft pillows. A small table at the far end was cluttered with plates of food, piled with breads and cheese and meat and there was wine by the smell of it and water, too. Merlin's stomach growled. The meagre meal given to Camelot's prisoners hadn't been enough and he'd been hungry for days. He still was.

He sat down, poured himself wine, drank enough to wet his throat and soothe his nerves although not enough, never enough to dispel the memories of Arthur's face as he had turned away that last time. Merlin knew they would want to know whether the treaty had been signed or not. But he was reluctant to speak. It had ended in disaster with only the slimmest of hopes that someone else might be able to salvage it. And, to his shame, it was his own fault.

Nimueh, of course, was first to press him for news. "Well, I assume by your silence that Pendragon refused. Not unexpectedly. Uther was always blindly stubborn and the son is very like his father."

Ignoring her, Merlin said, "I'm sorry, Gaius. I know you thought he might be more likely to listen if I delivered the terms myself but he…," he stopped a moment, trying to get his breath back, trying to find some part of him that wasn't hollow with loss. "He hates me and I don't really blame him."

The old man just gave him a look of exasperation, practiced over the years into a fine art. "Merlin, I'm sure you are mistaken. Arthur was always quick to anger but once he realized his mistakes, he was very careful to correct them. Perhaps you misread the situation."

"Not this time." Merlin could only shake his head, hunching down, unhappiness in the memories. "He told me never to return."

Talisen was usually patient but Merlin could see that he was anxious to put things into motion, one way or another. "Did he reject the terms then, Emrys?"

With a resigned sigh, Merlin took another long swallow of wine, and then said, "Arthur has not rejected the terms out of hand. He refuses to allow me or Nimueh back into Camelot but he's willing to have another sorcerer return to discuss a treaty." Staring down at his hands cupping the goblet, feeling helpless and lost and so very alone, Merlin couldn't keep from remembering Arthur's face or the disgust on it. A breath, drawn out but he still refused to look at any of them. "He said that it mattered little to him. I don't know if that was because he's going to reject it anyway or if he was so angry with me that he hadn't thought it through."

"Or it is a delaying tactic until he can find out where we are and try to destroy us once and for all," Nimueh said flatly.

Wanting to protest, wanting to defend his friend from her poison, when it came down to it, he could not. It would have been all too easy to think that she was right. Arthur had left him in the dungeon for days, enough time to dig deep and find out something of the places where the Old Religion used to flourish. It made too much sense to deny.

"I think we should send Gaius to Camelot." Talisen glanced at the older man and then down at Merlin and the goblet in his hand, his mouth thinning in displeasure. "From what you've both told me, the king had always had great respect for him and I don't think he would execute him if he were our representative in the talks."

Merlin stared at him, shaking his head at the suggestion; there were too many ways that it could all go wrong. "We've been through this. He's too old to make such a journey and his skills in magic are not the best." His cheeks flushed with concern, his fingers clutching hard around the wine cup, he said, half-ashamed, "Forgive me, Gaius but if he decides to make an example of you, we wouldn't be able to get you out in time."

Lifting the goblet to his mouth again, he was surprised to find it already empty; he hadn't remembered draining it. But as he reached for the jug to refill it, Gaius's eyebrow was already high enough to tell Merlin that he wasn't pleased; he pulled the cup out of Merlin's grasp and shoved a plate of cheese and bread at him instead. And tsked. No, Gaius was not pleased at all.

"Do you think you were followed?" Talisen wanted to know.

"No, not unless they can track magic. I left no trail." Suddenly, he was tired, his eyelids drooping and he just wanted to go to sleep. He'd had enough of failure for one night. "I think… I… we have time to decide what to do next."

"We need to know the essentials at least, Emrys." Intent on getting some answers, Talisen leaned forward, unrolled a detailed map of the palace under Merlin's nose, pointed toward the parchment, and said sharply, urgently, "Troop strength, entrances into Camelot and how well guarded they are, whether the population is willing to accept us back or not, whether Pendragon remains obstinate about magic or is willing to listen to reason."

A hot flare of anger under his heart and he stared back at the man in bewildered fury. For all their honeyed words, did they still expect him to betray Arthur, kill him if they didn't get their way? Without a second thought? Playing at diplomacy and making him think they were serious, and all the while trying to use him for their own ends: to gather information against his friend, to plan an attack, to twist whatever knowledge he had into a weapon?

It was unbelievable and he'd be damned before he'd do such a thing.

A small part of him, one that wasn't exhausted and idiotic and confused, knew he was being unreasonable, knew that most of the magic users truly wanted peace. He knew, too, that they had to plan for the worst while hoping for the best but still it stung, especially coming so soon after Arthur's accusations.

Taking a deep breath to clear his head – he'd never been able to hold his wine and it was making him feel off-balanced, Merlin shoved the map aside."I didn't go as a spy, Talisen. I have no idea of troops or defences."

The snarl in his voice didn't seem to bother Talisen at all. "But you could tell us if they had increased or decreased troop levels since you left and you must have seen something of the defensive systems in place when you were in the palace."

"I was under arrest." The memory of those days, the waiting, hope turning into dust and the hatred on Arthur's face, caught in his throat. It didn't help that Gaius was looking at him with concern or perhaps it was pity in his eyes. But he knew they weren't going to let this go, that they'd push and push until he told them everything.

His fingers were busy tearing at the finery at his wrists, the enamel and gold bracelet turning around and around under his hand, the fraying embroidery of his tunic catching on the edges. "As soon as I arrived, Arthur had me thrown into the dungeons. Not a great place for observing much of anything."

Clearly unhappy with the news, Talisen grunted, but Nimueh nodded as if she had been expecting it, looked satisfied, her eyes gleaming greedy in the firelight. "Ah. So Pendragon's whelp follows in the footsteps of his father yet again."

Merlin ignored her, told Gaius, "Arthur was not happy to see me and things got a little heated."

"You were always a fool around the prince." Nimueh's growing smirk was savage-bright. "The ever-faithful dog cringing before his master."

Merlin bit back a response. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore her taunts. Over the years, bitterness had soured her, seemed to drive her lust for revenge against the Pendragons into frenzy. She was still formidable, still a master at manipulation, still one of the leaders at the Isle but she was as blind as they when it came to Arthur Pendragon. He could not help but blame her for what had happened; it was her lies that had turned Arthur against him, had brought them all to this moment.

Refusing to look at her, he turned back to Talisen. "I would remind all of you that I did not want to go, that I thought it was a mistake to send me." He closed his eyes, trying to block out his failure."And it was."

"What happened, Merlin?" Gaius must have known what he was feeling; his voice was gentle, understanding, endlessly patient.

For a moment, struggling to put some kind of order to his chaotic thoughts, Merlin wrapped his hand around the enamelled wristlet, twisting it until it began to bend under the pressure, began to come apart as he picked at it. Thin metal bands and ragged pieces of glass poked up, slicing fingers and cloth. With a muttered curse, he tore the bracelet off, shoving it aside, leaving a trail of cobalt blue as the enamel fell apart.

On one finger, a bright drop of blood welled up and he sucked on it for a moment, the harsh tang of iron in his mouth reminding him of battles and fear and Arthur.

"He tried to kill me and then when I was able to evade his sword and keep from getting skewered, he threw me in prison." He couldn't stand to look at Gaius's soft sympathy and so instead he stared down at his hands and the fraying tunic. "I thought I should let him cool down before talking to him about the treaty but there was a girl awaiting execution for sorcery and I couldn't..."

"Not one of ours." His mentor's voice was gentle but it just made things worse.

Merlin shook his head. "No, not one of ours." His fingers were restless again, catching on unravelling cloth, tearing at it."When Arth… the king found out that they had been executing innocent people, he wasn't best pleased. But the girl went free." Pulling at the fine threads, stubborn, stubborn, they wouldn't break and he kept at it until Gaius's hand covered his own and he stilled, looking up into sympathetic eyes as he let Merlin go. "She was terrified of me, even more than of being burnt alive."

"So the lies Uther spread took root." Talisen was nodding at the news, seemed unsurprised.

"Yes, there are a lot of people who don't seem to remember that magic could be used for good." Merlin swallowed hard, remembering Medraut's hatred, remembering Bronwyn's panic at seeing him, not even grateful for saving her, scurrying away as if he were the horror and not Uther's injustice. "Even if we are allowed back, overcoming the fear will take time."

Watching him carefully, concerned again, Gaius said, "And the king?"

"He seemed to listen to me, even had the court historian look into the records. I thought it would…" Merlin couldn't seem to stop remembering the faces, the anger, the ruin of it; his body was alive with anxiety, his fingers restless. He needed to get past this and help them rectify the situation but before that, he needed to tell them what he'd done.

Reaching again for the wine flask, snaking past Gaius's startled glare, he poured more into his cup, filled it to the brim and a bit beyond, unsteady as he began to gulp it down. False courage, his mother would say, fool's courage but it began to warm his belly, start melting the chill that had plagued him since this whole fiasco had begun.

Another long swallow and he set the goblet back on the table with a thunk, flattened his hands against the wood, gathering strength to admit his failure. Refusing to look at any of them, he said, "I mucked it all up. So badly."

"Merlin, what did you do?" Gaius must have had some inkling; he could hear the worry in his voice.

He couldn't speak, kept shaking his head. Staring down at his hands, he could feel the moment, that breathless instant that exists between one second and the next, growing tight across his chest; his heart, too, seemed to slow into silence. It was too much, too much but it wouldn't change what he had done and he knew it. All he could do was try and make things right again.

In the next moment, his voice tight with loss, Merlin said, "I told Arthur what happened to his mother."

"Merlin…." He was right. Gaius sounded horrified and, when Merlin looked up again, he couldn't help but flinch back at the disappointment in the old man's eyes.

Behind him, there was a startled huff of feminine laughter, triumphant and cruel. "So Uther's legacy comes back to haunt his son. I couldn't have planned it better myself."

He wanted to wheel around, tear the smirk off her damnable, exultant face, shred her into a thousand pieces for what she had done. It took all his strength to ignore her venom but it was a near thing.

Focusing solely on Gaius's face, not daring to look in her direction, he said slowly, carefully, "I didn't do it on purpose. It was a misunderstanding and when I realized the mistake I'd made, it was too late. Uther lied to him on his deathbed and Arthur accused me of… well, I thought he was going to kill me right then and there. I'd never seen him so angry." Merlin was shaking; he had been so close, so close and then it had all fallen to pieces, the failure, his failure almost unbearable. "He threw me back in prison. Then, a few days later, he let me go and told me not to come back."

"Long enough for him to discover where we are." She was sauntering around the table, dress trailing behind, slowly strutting like some rabid peacock, her mouth painted red as blood. Some might have called her beautiful – he had once thought her so - but she was poisonous as a viper and all Merlin could see was the hatred in her cold eyes. "Releasing you puts us off our guard and hinting that he'd be willing to receive another in your place… well, it's a bit too convenient, isn't it?"

"You don't know that." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Recoiling, he turned away, looked toward Talisen, said in desperation, "It could be like Gaius says, that once he realizes his mistake, he'll correct it."

"Don't be a fool, Emrys. Your love for Uther's whelp has blinded you to the reality of the situation." She was smiling again, gazing intently at Merlin, certain of victory and her place in it. Sweet triumph in the way she dragged her fingertips along the table and her deliberate walk. "We must strike first. Before Pendragon is ready."

"No, you can't!" On his feet before he realized it, his arms waving wildly, he was furious beyond measure. Behind his eyes, he could feel his magic gathering, the boil of it in his blood and his hands were claws, itching to throttle her somehow. Nimueh's poison had infected him and it scalded his skin, tore at his gut, his vision a red haze blinding him. He couldn't breathe for a moment, the hatred he felt for her clogging his throat.

As Gaius pulled him back, Merlin all but spat in her face. "Do you ever think of anything but revenge? You destroyed my life, trying to mould me into something you could use. Never asking what I wanted, never thinking beyond the power you craved. And now this…."

"Merlin!" He twisted Merlin around, his face now tight with frustration, as if he had done something stupid and Gaius would have to fix the mess as he had so many times before.

Merlin was having none of it. Jerking his arm out of Gaius's grasp, he was almost shouting at him, at them all, but mostly at Gaius. "How can you let her say such things? You were always going on about magic and how it is the magic user that determines whether it's used for good or not and this is how she…" He slapped his palm down onto the table, a sharp thwack that echoed harsh against the wood. They were staring at him, wide-eyed and he snarled back at them, "Arthur is destined to be a great king. Is it too much to ask that we give him another chance, just one more chance to make things right?"

"Merlin…." Reproof, concern, guilt, Gaius's eyes were full of emotion.

Merlin bit his lip to keep from apologizing, though. He was right and he'd be damned if he'd take back anything he'd just said.

"Emrys, we are grateful for your efforts but a night's rest may give you some perspective." Talisen was shaking his head and Merlin stumbled back, furious but starting to shiver with exhaustion. Too much wine and his outburst had drained him. "We will speak again in the morning when your head has cleared."

"But…," he said, still protesting, "promise me you won't do anything yet. I'm sure I could come up with something. Arthur is stubborn but he's a good man. He deserves another chance."

Nimueh gave an amused little snort but Talisen ignored her. "Emrys, we will talk again tomorrow. The others will want to hear what happened and we can discuss it then. Go now and rest."

Gaius hooked his hand under Merlin's arm and began to pull him away, toward his room, gently, firmly. He let himself be guided along, half-stumbling over his own feet with tiredness. But he couldn't let it go. "Gaius, you know she'll try and lie her way into hurting him and he doesn't deserve it."

"There's nothing more you can do tonight." He'd heard that patient tone of Gaius's a hundred times before; long ago, he would have nodded and grown embarrassed and done what he'd been told but not now.

"But you know her. She's capable of anything," Merlin said stubbornly.

He started to turn around, wanting to go back and confront her but his old mentor gripped him more firmly and kept walking away from the others. "You are in no fit state at the moment to do anything but rest."

"Gaius, she's going to…." he started, still half-furious but knowing, too, that Gaius was right. He wouldn't be able to convince them of anything, never mind second chances for Arthur, not with the wine still muddying his mind. So he just nodded and let himself be dragged along.

It didn't take long to reach his own small room crowded with spell books, bits and pieces of things he'd gathered in the years since he'd come to the Isle, herbs, strange masks and bottles of elementals spilling over his cupboards. He'd never learned to use the wardrobe for clothing; there was still a pile on the one chair and the bed was unmade, messy from when he'd left for Camelot, a scatter of discarded bits cluttering the blanket and the floor next to it.

He shoved most of the mess off the bed and sat down wearily. Dragging off the remaining bracelet and the gold torc still ornamenting his throat, he handed them over to Gaius, then discarded the embroidered tunic and undershirt onto the floor. He ignored the tsk-tsk of his mentor's fond annoyance. Some things never changed.

As Gaius was setting aside the jewellery and handing him a nightshirt, Merlin said softly, "I hardly recognized him."

The other man stilled for a moment, then stood up, folding his hands in front of him, looking so much like when Merlin had first met him that it almost made him smile. Almost.

"It has been four years, Merlin. Many things have changed." Gaius's gentle reply just saddened him more.

"He looked so angry." Looking away, unable to face him, knowing that his mentor and Uther had been through a lifetime of choices together, still he had to say it. "He looked like his father."

"Ah." Soft exhale and a wealth of meaning in it.

Merlin looked up again to see Gaius watching him carefully. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell him about his mother but it sounded like he already knew and I… I'm sorry."

"I know you are, Merlin." Gaius reached out and touched his cheek, a feather touch of understanding, then frowned a bit as he looked closer. "Is that when he hit you?"

He jerked back, touching at the bruise, remembering the hatred in Arthur's eyes and the guilt. "No, not then. Earlier when I told him he'd been executing innocent people. He didn't take the news well."

"Did he do… anything else?" The man could dance around a question with the best of them.

"Arthur is still an honourable man, Gaius." Wanting to curl up and forget it all if only for a little while, Merlin shook his head, scrubbed at his face, sleepy and guilty and lost. "He's just blind when it comes to magic."

He lay back, let Gaius pull the blanket over him, let him smooth Merlin's hair a moment. "Tomorrow will bring challenges but I'll be with you. Get some rest."

And before he could say anything else, Gaius blew out the candle and closed the door behind him, leaving Merlin alone to his thoughts. There was nothing left to do but sink down into sleep and try not to worry about tomorrow.

* * *

  
 _Red spilled everywhere, splattering the stone, covering grass, the slime of human entrails and in the distance someone was screaming, high-pitched and almost inhuman in their agony. Billows of smoke and the iron-tang of blood and he couldn't move. Flashes of bright metal and the clang of swords and everywhere, everywhere were mail-clad figures slicing through flesh. Beyond, the mutter of chanting or was it magic gathering for a final assault – he couldn't tell but Arthur was there, sword encrusted with blood, shouting something half-mad. Blue eyes staring at him and black smoke and..._

Merlin sat up, gasping for breath, heart pounding as if trying to escape his chest. Gods, it seemed so real. It felt so real and he wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a vision of things to come. He wasn't a Seer, not like Morgana, but sometimes his dreams came true. Gods, he hoped not, not this time, please.

Shaking from the intensity of it – he could still smell the smoke, he curled up against the headboard, his face in his hands, trying to scrub the images clean. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Just a dream, just a…

The words were going over and over in his head but it wasn't working and yet he could hear something else, out there beyond his fingertips. Shouting in the courtyard. Someone was unhappy and then there was the beat of footsteps coming close.

He glanced up to see Gaius burst into the room, his hair a bit wild, dishevelled, as if he'd been hurrying. "Merlin, get dressed." He picked up a shirt and tossed it to him. Face grim, he said sharply, "There are knights gathering on the other side of the lake."

"How did they find us?" The chill of the nightmare shivered down his back and it seemed to grow more real by the moment. The rage on Arthur's face and blood everywhere and steaming meat where once there had been living beings. It couldn't be happening, it couldn't. Fear that it would soon come true clogged his throat, his chest ached with the thought of it and it took a moment to ask, "Is it Arthur?"

Shaking his head, Gaius looked deeply concerned. "We can't be sure yet but there are about 20 of them on horseback and they are wearing the red of Camelot."

It had all been lies. Playing him for the blind fool he was, Arthur had betrayed Merlin after all.


	8. Chapter 8

They were all staring at him. As Merlin joined the other sorcerers on the parapet, he ignored the heated looks, the glares like daggers at his back. Instead he gazed across the water, watched the white mist drifting and the sun rising above it. It was just past dawn and chill and would have been quiet but for the jangle of horses and men arguing and dull clang of armour coming from the far shore of the lake. He couldn't see the knights, not until the fog lifted and even then it would be difficult but they were there; he could hear them; he could feel them and the hatred they had brought to the Isle.

It hurt to think of what it meant. Like a fool, Merlin had fallen for the façade. Arthur had been the perfect mask of reluctant friend, pretending to listen to him, giving Merlin back what he had expected, a king seemingly unhappy about a betrayer returning but hinting that he'd be receptive to change. Oh yes, Arthur had played him alright.

Heartsick, now he could only stand there and watch as destiny closed in.

They would expect him to kill Arthur of course, to murder him without a second thought so that one way or another, the ban on magic would end in Camelot. But even if Arthur had lied to him over the past few days, Merlin had told the truth; he'd never let Arthur come to harm. Like it or not, fool or not, he was Arthur's friend and would be until the day Merlin died.

At the moment, however, there were more pressing problems. Gaius might be a steady warmth at his side but behind Merlin, sharp mutters spoke of anger and an increasing insistence on explanations, even the beginnings of retribution. He ignored them all, even Gaius's concerned looks, continued to stare out over the lake, hoping, dreading the first glimpse of a red-cloaked king on the far shore. He wanted so desperately to be mistaken, to find some other reason for Arthur to have followed him here. Foolish hopes crumbling into loss.

There were deliberate, hard footsteps behind him and as he twisted around to face Talisen, Merlin could see one hand fisted tight as if poised to strike, his other fingering the dagger at his hip. "Emrys, what have you done?" Poison in his voice and fury, too.

Behind him Nimueh's smile was curled in satisfaction, the rest of the sorcerers either arguing at each other about the sudden appearance of troops or else staring at Merlin as if he were a traitor who had plotted their downfall.

Putting up his hands in an attempt to placate the man, knowing that his protests would be likely ignored, still Merlin said, "Nothing! I don't know how they found out where we were." He stepped back, hitting the stone wall with a painful thump. "I used magic to return here and you know that leaves no trail."

"A hint to Pendragon, then." Talisen was crowding into him, threat clear in his eyes. "Something!"

"No, I didn't. I wouldn't." His mind going back through every conversation he'd had with Arthur to try and figure out if he had indeed let something slip, his voice rose in the beginnings of panic. "Even if I didn't agree with you, I still wouldn't have led them back here. You have to believe me."

"Merlin wouldn't lie about this." Gaius's thin voice was lost in angry murmurs.

Instead, ignoring the older man's protest, they began to cluster around Merlin, malice and anger a heavy weight in their stares, coldly watching him as he squirmed backwards against the stone. He recognized most of them; he'd trained with them, planned with them, ate and drank with them, shared laughter and concerns and yet at the first sign of trouble, they were willing to think the worst of him. Not something he had truly expected but then he'd always thought the best of those around him. Another loss to bear.

But among them was one who had been less than friendly, someone who hated the Pendragon dynasty with a passion tempered only with ruthlessness and blamed Merlin for standing beside Arthur when others died by axe or fire. Lysan, his dark eyes hard with mistrust, said sharply, "Why should we? We all know that you are blind when it comes to Uther's whelp. You could be lying to save your own skin and the moment our backs are turned, you help him slit our throats."

"If you think that, why did you send me then?" Merlin was appalled that they could even consider such a thing.

"Pendragon trusted you." Lysan smiled and flicked his fingertips towards the lake and the cluster of red on the far shore. "If nothing else, you would have an advantage to push forward our agenda. _If_ you had our best interests at heart. But now we know whose side you are really on."

"I want peace just like the rest of you!"

"Lysan, we don't know why the knights of Camelot are here." Dryes, a witch subtle in her arts and yet more conciliatory toward making peace than some of the others, was looking at him with some sympathy. "Merlin has shown nothing but determination to find a peaceful solution to this since he arrived."

Still watching Merlin with an intensity that left him more than a little worried, Talisen spoke up. "Always the pacifist. It does you credit, Dryes, except for the simple fact that Pendragon didn't know where we were until Merlin went to Camelot. It's too much of a coincidence to ignore."

"I didn't tell him," Merlin protested, then his eyes focused in on Nimueh.

She was standing there, a little bit beyond the crowd, her eyes pale corruption in the morning light, her mouth gleamed blood-slick. Above all, the satisfied smirk on her face told how much she was enjoying his pain.

He wouldn't put it past her to stir things up. She was always one to go her own path, even if it destroyed everyone else in her way. Merlin's growing panic morphed into fury, glaring at Nimueh. "Did you do this? Did you tell him where we were? To draw him out?"

Heads swung around, and for a moment the sorceress looked taken aback. Then she waved her hands toward the distant noise of men and armour and horses across the lake.

"I? Why would I do such a thing?" There was bitterness in her laughter, mocking him even as her smile grew wider, then a lift of her shoulders as if his accusations were nothing, as if he were an idiot and only there for her amusement. "Pendragon is more vulnerable here, it is true, but I could have killed him easily enough at any time. He would have been no match against my powers… as well you know."

She sounded so reasonable, so magnanimous, as if she were doing Arthur a favour by not murdering him. It was a game to her, a destructive little game that brought death and desperation to everyone around her and yet she could find amusement in it. Merlin wanted to throttle her. "I don't believe anything you say, witch."

Another laugh and she nodded to the others standing there, listening. "I don't care if you believe me or not, Emrys. It is those who have devoted their lives to this endeavour who count in this, not you."

The mutters of agreement did not make Merlin feel confident that they believed him, quite the reverse. In fact, some of them were staring at him as if he were an insect to be crushed beneath booted feet, the subtle shift in the way they were glaring at him and the press of bodies closing in. But he couldn't back away; he was up against a stone wall - literally. There was nowhere left to go.

"We can't assume Emrys betrayed us, not without proof." Looking appalled, Dryes held up her hands, motioning for calm. "However he found out, Pendragon is here now."

Turning away from Merlin, his back stiff with mistrust, Talisen said, "Your point being?"

"We all know that he'd never be able to reach the Isle by conventional means but Pendragon could wear us down or starve us out in time." Dryes looked over the parapet, toward the far shore and restless colour of Camelot knights in the distance. "We need more information; how many men, arms, horses, supplies does he have here? Nimueh and I can use the scrying crystals to see just how prepared Pendragon is for a long siege."

A slight shudder, the kind that shivers over the skin after a bad dream and Merlin was remembering the nightmare he'd had. Full of death and desperation and Arthur was there, shouting, his sword caked in blood. He couldn't let that happen, not even if it meant his own death.

He started to move forward, hoping to turn that future into something else by offering to help but Gaius's hand was on his arm, holding him back. "Don't. Let them talk it out."

Nimueh sent Merlin a look of contempt, her smile morphing fast back into satisfaction. The urge to wipe that smirk off her face was almost overwhelming. But instead he drew back, listening to Dryes's questions. "But we need to know more. Why is he here? To consolidating power? To reconcile? To destroy us once and for all or something else entirely? And for that, we need an emissary."

For a moment, there was silence, almost a breathless stillness and then everyone, every single sorcerer on the parapet turned toward Merlin.

"Say it plainly, Dryes. We need a spy." Nimueh nodded toward Merlin and shrugged. "We can't trust Emrys, not after half of Camelot showed up here so _unexpectedly_. The idea of him finding out Pendragon's plans and then reporting it back to us is... naive."

How easily she twisted things, how poisonous her lies. Merlin snapped back, "I wasn't spying for him and I won't spy for you, either."

"It is irrelevant. You are not the person to go, in any case." Talisen shrugged, half-turned toward Merlin, and then looked out over the thinning mist. "If you are a traitor to our cause, you would betray us. If you are innocent, still Pendragon would not welcome you back." The sorcerer's gaze flicked back to him, a thoughtful frown on Talisen's face. "The king made that quite clear, didn't he, Emrys?"

"Yes." Ashamed, despairing, Merlin bowed his head, ignored the mutter of surprised voices. It didn't matter what they thought. Arthur's scorn had been enough.

"I will go." There was a moment of surprised quiet. As Merlin looked up, Talisen was already continuing, "Gaius would be the logical choice since Pendragon knows him but this feels dangerous. I have a fair chance of escaping should it turn into disaster."

"You are needed here, my friend." Lysan stepped forward, and reaching out, one hand on Talisen's shoulder, he said, "Let me go instead. I am as proficient in sword-fighting as any knight and you can be sure I won't betray anyone."

Merlin's reply was sharp, visceral. "No! He hates Arthur. He's as likely to kill him as talk to him." Gaius tried to silence him but he shrugged him off, hoping to get Talisen to listen to him if only he could find the right words. "I could…."

Instead, the sorcerer dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand. "Don't be absurd." Ignoring Merlin's continuing protests, Talisen turned away, gripping Lysan's arm, sending him a final, satisfied nod. "I thank you. I think it best if you wait until dark, then slip over and get a feel for their encampment and vulnerabilities. There will be time enough tomorrow to talk with Arthur Pendragon."

Before Merlin could say anything else, Talisen raised his voice and said, "As for the rest of you, I think we need to prepare for a long siege. It is possible that this is a mistake or something less than war but we must be ready. I will want a full report by sunset."

Appalled, Merlin just stood there as the rest of the sorcerers scurried off, busy with their own concerns. Gaius was still by his side, patient and silent, but it wasn't enough. After everything that he'd done for them, he was dismissed, discarded, branded a traitor by the people he'd come to regard as friends.

Fighting back the lump in his throat, he turned back toward the lake, leaning against the cold stone, listening to the lap of water below and the distant sound of trouble. For a few moments, he picked at some of the lichen colouring the wall, and tried not to think.

"Merlin, they are worried," Gaius said softly. "They don't know who to trust."

"I know that." His fingers dug into the crumbling stone, muscle and bone warring against the granite, the beginnings of pain burrowing into his skin. "But you would think that four years of my life helping them would be worth something."

"They may come around." Gaius sounded as if he were trying to reassure himself as much as Merlin.

"It may be too late for that." He knew as well as his old mentor that they would not 'come around'; they were likely to turn on him if he made the slightest move they might regard as suspicious. That wasn't going to stop him, though. He'd be damned before he'd let them hurt the people he loved. "I supposed it will depend on what Arthur will do. He's stubborn and pig-headed and sometimes he doesn't see what's right in front of him and I used to think I knew him but now..."

"Has he changed that much?" The concerned look on his face spoke volumes.

"I don't know. I would like to think not but… I'm afraid, Gaius. I had a dream last night and it didn't end well. It may have been just a nightmare or it might have been something more." Under Merlin's fingertips, the lichen crumbled into dust. Drawing a long hard breath, he wiped at the grime on his hands, not looking at Gaius as he said, "Arthur was there and he had a bloody sword in his hand, fighting with someone and there was chanting as if spells were being cast." He glanced up, searching for reassurance in his old mentor's gaze and finding none. "I'm afraid of what tomorrow might bring."

"You cannot know the future, Merlin. You can only make choices that seem right for now."

"I thought I was and look how that turned out." There was a flare of petulance in his voice and he knew he should remain calm but he was just so frustrated with the situation. No matter what he did, someone would get hurt. "Gaius, you know that Lysan's hatred of Uther blinds him. He'll find an excuse to go after Arthur and he won't stop until he's killed him."

"Then we must make sure he finds no excuse."

They both knew what Gaius was suggesting was impossible. Lysan was a powerful warlock, and in the years Merlin had known him, he had always been focused on retribution for his family's murders; the man had been hampered by the other sorcerers and their need to try and broker peace with Arthur but now with Camelot knights lining the shore, that barrier was gone. Talisen had made a grave mistake agreeing to Lysan's demands. This would not end well.

Merlin shook his head, said flatly, "He won't stop." Pushing off from the stone wall, he started toward the archway, already thinking of what he would have to do.

He had to find out why Arthur was here. It was a puzzle, really. A fighting force of twenty would not be enough for a long siege and the sorcerers were protected from normal battle strategies; the large lake surrounding them and the think high walls of the castle would hinder a quick victory even without magic. To get past their defences, the Camelot forces would need time and planning and supplies and Arthur had come to the Isle with too few men for that – unless, of course, it was a scouting expedition but even then, they had not hidden their movements. It didn't make sense.

Once upon a time, the sharp disapproval Gaius could radiate with a look and one raised eyebrow would have stopped Merlin dead in his tracks. Now it was more fondness than apprehension that kept him from walking away.

"Merlin, if they find out you are going to try and talk with Arthur, they'll have your head."

"You know me, Gaius. I'll be careful." Keeping his voice light, he gave Gaius a quick smile, trying to look the part of someone who knew what they were doing.

Of course, he failed miserably. Gaius's frown sharpened and he looked distinctly displeased.

"I do know you, Merlin, and careful is not what you are." The worrier, the protector, the gentle mentor who had looked after him like a father watching after a well-loved son.

Merlin's smile grew genuine, affection for this man who had taken him in all those years ago burning bright. Leaning forward, he gave him a quick hug and then standing back, hands on Gaius's shoulders, he said, "Then I'll try not to get caught."

Trying to escape from the Isle was not as easy as he'd hoped. They were watching him, obviously expecting him to go to Arthur, warn him somehow. Apparently, though, he wasn't made for subterfuge. He knew really that he was hopeless at it; he'd struggled to hide his magic when he was Arthur's manservant and he'd almost been caught many times. His stealth skills hadn't improved since then - he was still clumsy as ever, but at least here, he hadn't had to hide his magic.

Now when he needed to get away, it was proving near impossible. In the last few hours, he had never been truly alone. The other sorcerers found excuses to talk with him or were oh-so-casually walking in the same direction. The little looks they gave him were disturbing enough but the way they continued to follow him, not even trying to hide it, bordered on alarming.

Finally giving up trying to evade them, he went to one of the smaller libraries in the complex, pulling out a heavy spell book and settling in to read it. If they wanted to watch him sitting there looking through books, then perhaps he'd lull them into making a mistake and he could escape then. He had time. Lysan wouldn't be at Camelot's camp until after sunset and there were hours of daylight left.

Merlin could hear faint whispering behind him. Two of them, a younger more inexperienced sorceress and her mentor, were murmuring secrets to each other, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see them gesturing toward him. Turning the pages slowly and methodically, he leaned forward, tilting his head a bit, trying to listen more closely to what they were saying. But it was impossible. They were too far away.

Magic had its uses, beyond the obvious. A thready sigh as he breathed out, " _Oferhíere_."

Straining to hear, he knew that the spell could only do so much, especially around other magic users. But he was not known as one of the foremost sorcerers on the Isle for nothing. It took a few moments but at last focusing all his energy, he could understand what they were saying.

Urgent, a worried frown on her young face, Ceren kept looking toward him and then away again. "Do you think he knows about they've planned for Pendragon?"

Alarm shrilled straight into his chest, heart suddenly hammering with apprehension. They were talking about Arthur. He tried not to react, wanting to hear more without giving anything away but panic was already shaking at him. With studied nonchalance, he forced himself to turn another page and pretend to read.

"Emrys's always been one to defend him, even when it got bad a couple of years back." Compassion laced the older, woman's voice. Brene had been kind to him; in those first early days at the Isle when he'd lost his way and was drifting unsure and alone, she'd seemed to understand his silences. Now, that remembered kindness hurt. "I feel sorry for him, though."

"Yes, I do, too." As the younger one's voice softened, Merlin strained to hear her, the spell all but useless but then she grew more animated. "Talisen's doing the right thing. With the king and more troops coming…."

This was the first he'd heard of more troops. Usually the gossip would spread like wildfire but it would seem no one considered telling him - understandably since he was under suspicion. Still he would have expected Gaius to let him know, unless of course, he didn't know or was under guard himself.

In any case, this did not bode well for peace negotiations. The increase in knights would be viewed with the deepest suspicion and could very well be the final spark that sets the world ablaze. Almost shuddering with the effort to keep from jumping up and demanding to know what was going on, Merlin turned another page. And prayed to all the gods that somehow he could stop it before it was too late.

Flicking a glance toward him, the worry on Brene's face cleared; his façade of indifference seemed to placate her. "Damn that it's come to this. I'd really hoped Emrys had been right about Pendragon and it was his father who was…."

The girl was eager enough or worried enough to interrupt her. "Nimueh said that she and a couple of others are going with Lysan to take care of the problem."

No. It couldn't be.

Merlin couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but sit there, stunned. It was already too late, then. They'd already decided to kill Arthur. Nimueh and Lysan would make sure of that and they could be on their way at that very moment. With the final choice made, they'd not wait; they'd murder Arthur just as soon as they could.

"If only… peace would have been better for everyone." His vision was half-blurred with terror; he wasn't paying attention to their words, was already trying to think of what to do next. "At least it gave us time. We're stronger now and once Camelot is ours, the balance will be restored at last."

He'd need a sword, just in case one of the knights tried to attack him or a long knife. Magic was in his blood but sometimes a blade would do just as well and more quickly than trying to handle multiple attacks with different spells. The armoury was just down the corridor and if he could distract them somehow, there would be a choice of weapons for him. Not that he was any good at them but… his mind was still spinning wildly in panic when he heard his name.

"Emrys won't like it. What are they going to do about him?" The girl, Ceren, was asking as if it were already decided, as if what he wanted wasn't important, as if he were their enemy. Grief hollowing his chest, he waited for the answer.

"Lock him up, I guess, until it's over. I just hope he'll be cooperative. He has a good heart." Brene patted the other's hand, looking unhappy but almost resigned to the situation. "But if he resists, they'll probably do whatever it takes, no matter the cost."

The horror of it was that he didn't even blame them. To them, he was some kind of rabid dog to be restrained or if necessary killed for the greater good. But oh, how it hurt; the years he'd been here had been happy enough, learning, enjoying the heady excitement of using magic as it was meant to be. Now he would be leaving that all behind. Even if Arthur rejected him, tried to destroy him, he could never return to this place once he left.

Ceren looked up, back toward the corridor behind them, said softly, breathlessly, "They're coming."

Merlin could hear them, too, the sound of people walking fast, growing stronger with every heartbeat. They were going to chain him up or kill him and he couldn't let it happen, wouldn't let it happen. This was too important for him to fail, not now.

He'd have to do without weapons. He'd never reach the armoury in time. It was already too late, far too late; all he could do was try to escape as he was.

Standing abruptly, the chair falling back with a loud clatter, he twisted away, making for the back stores, knowing that behind them, there was a small side-door and beyond a corridor that would lead out to the parapet overlooking the lake. But there was the echo of booted feet rushing in his direction; the witches were hurrying toward him, their hands outstretched and he knew he had no time left.

Ceren shouted out, " _Béc_ , _hríesaþ_." The scatter of books started falling toward him, the shelving tilting fast, an avalanche of chaotic weight threatening to crush him.

Merlin didn't think, pushed outward in a great rush of air. " _Onswífaþ_!" And the great volumes of magic and folklore floated, suspended there for a moment and then in a great rush fell back toward them all, toward the women and those crowding into the space behind them. His name echoed in the noise and there were hands and limbs and shouts pleading for him to remain.

It was almost too much; he wanted to weep from it but instead he flung out the words. " _Astýre mé bearunæse_!"

Wind gathered him up, the room flying around him and breathless reality faded away in a great storm of air and light and sound – and deposited him hard onto the ground and the cold mud of a wooded shore.

Stunned, mindlessly watching the water lap against the roots of an oak tree and the sway of reeds, looking out across the lake toward the mist-shrouded Isle of the Blessed, for a moment, he didn't know what to do. Merlin hadn't even realized he was swiping at his face until his fingers came away wet.

He was shaking with decisions. He'd given up his life for something that might never happen but he'd be damned if he'd let Arthur be killed without a fight. He knew he couldn't stay where he was for very long, though. Those at the Isle would know that he'd try and find Arthur and they'd be hunting for him and even worse, once he was spotted by the knights, he didn't think they'd stop long enough to listen. Caught between opposing forces and nowhere to hide.

Knowing that he'd have to find Arthur and then try to reason with him before the others arrived, Merlin pushed himself up, took his first steps into the forest. In the distance, he could hear the faint cry of angry voices, the clink of metal against wood.

Luckily, he'd landed chest first into mud. His tunic was encrusted with dark stains and would blend in more with his surroundings unlike the brilliant red of Camelot's knights. Scraping off some of the dirt, he wiped it over his face and neck; his pale skin would be too obvious among the greens and browns. He supposed he could use a hiding spell, if necessary, when he got closer but he wanted to keep his focus on finding Arthur first. There would be time enough for magic if, when, things got worse.

Taking a deep breath, he started off toward the sounds, watching his every step. Arthur had not called him clumsy for no reason all those years ago and it was still true. He was a heavy-footed idiot when it came to keeping quiet. So he shuffled and crept and tread as lightly as he could, going from tree to tree, hiding as he drew nearer and nearer to the arguments.

All the while, he was trying to figure out what he'd say to Arthur when he finally found them: what was he doing there, did he not believe in the peace proposals, was he there to finish his father's legacy? Under it all beat the fear that revulsion, or worse attempted murder, would be Arthur's reaction to his reappearance.

Luck was with him, at least this time. No branch snapped, no stumbling over roots or rocks or his own clumsy feet. He was nearing the point where he could see Camelot red moving in the near woods and hear them talking among themselves and even recognize some of the faces.

There were guards mostly scattered about and the few knights he could see were clustered around a map. The one in charge had his back to Merlin but he couldn't tell if it was Arthur or not; the man was about the same height and build but he was wearing full chainmail and it was impossible to see. He was pointing down at something and then toward the lake. Merlin couldn't hear much either - even his ' _Oferhíere_ ' was hampered by distance - but 'boat' and 'bridges' and 'draining' made it sound like they were planning on a two-fold attack.

He'd have to chance it and move closer. He needed to know what was going on.

And then his luck ran out.

With a snap, the wood under his foot broke and the knights all turned toward him, including the one directing the others. Chainmail bright and the abrupt swirl of a red cloak and Merlin could finally see him.

It wasn't Arthur that was attacking the Isle of the Blessed. It was Medraut.

That changed everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi
> 
> "Oferhíere." = (I) overhear  
> "Béc, hríesaþ." = Books, fall down.  
> "Gescildan." = shield  
> "Onswífaþ" = push away  
> "Astýre mé bearunæse!"= Take me to the woody shore


	9. Chapter 9

Thwack!

Suddenly, there was a knife, metal-bright, embedded in the tree next to him. In the distance, he could hear Medraut screaming orders, fingers jabbing in his direction.

Panicked, Merlin realized that if he tried transport himself back to the Isle with magic, he'd be too vulnerable in the brief moments it would take for the spell to work. They were already throwing knives. Crossbow bolts would soon follow.

He needed some distance, a few seconds at most to work his magic. So he twisted, started to pelt away, diving back into the woods and heading toward the lake. Behind him were furious shouts and the sound of swords leaving scabbards, of chaos and murderous intent. He didn't dare look back but he could hear the crash of knights, of chainmail and armour, of boots trampling wood and leaf, coming closer.

All the while, his heart was beating, _Not Arthur, not Arthur._

A branch whipped across his face, a hard sharp sting and he almost stumbled. But he knew he couldn't stop, dare not stop.

He needed to warn the others before it was all too late. It was possible that Arthur knew nothing of Medraut's plans, that he might indeed want peace and that Medraut was trying to destroy whatever chance was left for it. If he could get to them, tell them what he knew, at least some of the sorcerers at the Isle might see reason and call off the attack.

If he got back in time.

If they listened.

 _Not Arthur, not Arthur._ His mind was ablaze with it, chest hurting with joy and hope and such relief that there were no words.

Yet it was all so impossible, fragile as glass. He had no idea what those at the Isle would do: refuse to listen, chain him up with iron and blood magic, try to kill him for betraying them? He didn't know, couldn't know. And if Lysan and Nimueh arrived, their hatred fuelling further attacks, the war Merlin had dreaded might start at any moment.

Catching at his clothes, the forest seemed almost alive, leaves reaching for him, branches and twigs slowing him or sending thin lines of pain across his skin. Roots threatened to trip him up and there was wind whistling behind him. Whistling, getting closer.

Thwack! A crossbow bolt exploded into the tree next to his head, spraying chips of wood outward. He looked back and there was Camelot red and they were close enough, too close. He'd not been able to outrun them. Another loud smack of metal against wood and the bolts were suddenly coming fast and furious.

Instinct kicked in and for a moment, there was stillness, the bolts hanging in mid-air but knights were closing in, shouting, trying to surround him and bring him to ground. And above it all, Merlin could hear Medraut shrieking, "Kill him, kill him!"

Shuddering, he swerved away, looking desperately for a place to hide and as his concentration wavered, the bolts began to speed up again, still a threat, still fast enough to destroy. Thwack, thwack, thwack.

He'd almost reached the lake, and slightly off to the left, he could see dense foliage near the edge. Frantic, he dove into the thicket, hunching down against a vine-strangled tree as he whispered, " _Bedyrne mé._ "

A shout of fury and then those trailing him were pelting past, crossbows at the ready and some with swords cutting back and forth, hungry for blood. A few slowed down, clearly looking to see where he'd gone but others were sprinting ahead, already hidden by trees and the rising mist along the shore.

Medraut was raging, almost beyond reason. Screaming at his men, berating them for losing the vile sorcerer, he told them to spread out and pick up his trail.

Merlin knew it wouldn't be hard. Near the water's edge, the ground was softer and footprints were clear enough that even he would have been able to see them. A quick thrust of wild magic and the nearest ones disappeared under rotting leaves but he knew he wouldn't able to hide them all, not without a spell. With the men so close, they'd likely hear if he said anything. He huddled more firmly into the tree's roots and hoped his luck would hold.

Cutting through the underbrush, the sharp sound of swords and the careless crack of branches as they pushed past, the other knights were coming back fast. They were breathing hard with the effort; he could see frustration on their faces and blood-lust, too. Merlin had outwitted them for the moment and it did not sit well. He was but a peasant and a sorcerer to boot. He'd insulted their pride and he was sure some of them would enjoy reminding him of his place – before they killed him.

What was worse was that they were clustering around their leader, the knights only a few yards away from where Merlin was hiding.

Medraut brought down his hand in a chop, signalling them to silence. "He may be utter scum but he's not stupid. It's clear that he's hiding. He showed no sign of using magic to escape. There'd have been a whirlwind or some kind of disturbance and there was none." The man was peering out into the woods, feral eyes sharply focused as he turned his head back and forth, hunting for clues. "He'll have left footprints and broken branches and he'll hide, like the coward he is, among bushes or under rocks." His face hardened into stone. "Search the area. Miss nothing. I want him found. Alive, if possible. I'll want to question him before I slit his throat."

Merlin froze, tried hard not to breathe or make any kind of movement that would give them a hint of his hiding place. But his mind was frantic, chaotic. He was trying to think of how to evade them, to confuse them enough to make a break for it before it was too late.

Even as he crouched there, he knew that time was running out. The other sorcerers would be arriving at any moment and he had to do something before this all turned into disaster.

Spreading across the woods, bright red cloaks and the rustle of chainmail, Medraut's men began circling around. With eyes trained to scout out bandits and traitors, it wouldn't take long before they'd spot the crushed greens and the broken twigs, the place he'd almost slipped in mud, the vines he's pushed aside in his haste.

Cloth rasping along the ground, one man brushed past his hiding place, almost too close, the sword in his hand sharp death. Another was off to one side, peering down, intent and a third guard already nodding toward Medraut, obviously signalling to the knight although his hands were hidden from Merlin. Slowly, slowly, they were gathering, beginning to surround him as if they knew where he was and were toying with him.

Damn.

"We know you are in there, scum." Only a few feet away, Medraut stood, his sword pointing toward the bushes where Merlin crouched silent and still, the knight looking almost as if he could see him clearly, impossible as that might seem. Medraut face was triumphant, smirk wide and eyes gleaming in contempt. "And when I've destroyed you once and for all, I'm sure the king will see reason and thank me for it."

 _Not Arthur, not Arthur._

Merlin didn't say anything, didn't move but he was brilliant with relief; he knew, absolutely and finally, that Arthur had not sent them to the Isle.

But the elation didn't last long. There were mere seconds before Medraut raised one hand and then brought it down. Some of the men looked oddly at their leader, clearly questioning what he was doing but nevertheless all of the knights and guards brought up their swords, raised their crossbows and aimed them toward Medraut was pointing.

"Surrender and I'll give you a quick death. Otherwise…." The implications were clear. But no matter the promises, the cold loathing in Medraut's eyes told Merlin that death would likely be a slow, brutal torment.

A long breathless moment passed. Merlin felt as if he were waiting forever for something to happen and then Medraut shouted, "Now!"

Bolts began to fly toward him and swords thrust into the surrounding thicket, the knights moving in fast. It was a morass of red cloaks and hatred. Merlin's instincts kicked into fury, slowing down time enough to be able to rise up and start moving away from where most of the men were clustered, where the bright swords were destroying everything in an attempt to reach him. The crossbow bolts hung mid-air and he ducked past them, running, running as fast as he could.

He could feel the magic draining from him, time speeding up again and his invisibility leaching away as he sprinted past them all. There was a great shout behind him and he turned his head, seeing more bolts headed toward him and a scramble of men hard on his heels.

It wasn't going to be enough; they'd never let him escape. Little choice now but to fight. He whirled on them, flinging up one hand, roaring out magic that threw them back and back into each other or unyielding trees. Bolts flew past him, thudding into woody trunks. He wasn't fast enough, though. As one scored across his arm, tearing at flesh, a fierce blossom of pain jolted his mind, and it threw him off-balance. It took a heartbeat or more and skidding on mud-slicked moss before he could right himself.

Blinking, he glanced around, trying to find some means to slow down the Camelot forces or stop them entirely. A few yards away, some of the men lay against tree trunks or sprawled on the ground, clearly unconscious or perhaps dead, although Merlin hoped not. But there were others gathering again, getting ready for another attack.

He knew he'd have to do whatever he could to survive. But he also knew that Arthur, like it or not, would see any death of Camelot's own as an attack upon his kingdom and act accordingly. Merlin could only hope that he would understand - eventually.

Gathering power to him, he raised his hand, looked at Medraut screaming his hatred, and begged the gods that it would be enough. He ignored the wind beginning to whip at the tops of trees and flying debris whistling past him, old leaves a wet snarl as they hit him from behind and mud whirling up and up. He ignored Medraut's surprised face or the flash of sudden fear in those still standing as he prepared to fight for his life.

With the suddenness that took his breath away, brilliant light burst into his vision, and the nearby tree trunks began to explode, peppering the air with burning wood and ash.

He froze in astonishment. The forces of Camelot were already scattering, diving behind trees, shouting chaos and terror. Medraut, too, took cover as another fiery ball hit the tree next to Merlin's head. And he finally realized what was going on.

The sorcerers from the Isle had arrived.

"Stop!" Shouting, ignoring the still imminent danger from Medraut, Merlin turned around to face Lysan and Nimueh and a scatter of others. "Stop, it's not what you think!"

"Traitor!" Gathering energy into his hands, snarling hatred and triumph, Lysan spat out, " _Waelfyr efeste!_ "

By the time Merlin realized what Lysan intended, a fireball was already hurtling impossibly fast toward him. It took all of his concentration just to twist away before it could explode in his face. Even so, he felt a blast of heat scorching his shirt when the fireball impacted the tree behind him. He had to slap away hot fragments; a heavy tree limb came flying past, missing his head by a hairsbreadth.

In the scant moments since Merlin had started fighting the newest threat, Medraut must have regrouped. Crossbow bolts were flying thick and fast and from behind him, he could hear the thud on trees and then there was a sudden shriek. One of them must have gotten through somehow; a moan of pain abruptly cut off.

Huddling against a fallen log, he knew he was a target for both groups but knowing, too, he had to stop this madness somehow. Frantic, he looked around to see what he could do.

The air was full of smoke. Trees off to his left were smouldering and the bushes behind were on fire, snarling heat and red cinders skyward. He could hear the frenzied shouts, Medraut's shrill voice calling for order and someone in the distance was screaming.

Merlin couldn't see much of what was going on but as the sorcerers kept up their attack, they were sending fireballs toward the armoured men scurrying away from them, and they followed fast, pressing hard to take advantage of the situation. There were hideous shrieks as some of Camelot's men fell, tabards on fire and armour half-melted and their skin crisping.

The bolts were still crossing the air, although less than before, and he heard another one hit, another scream. It would appear that the sorcerers were vulnerable and Merlin knew he couldn't let this go on. Those of the Isle were his people, too, no matter that they thought him a traitor.

Gathering magic into his hands, hoping to shroud the forest in a white fog so thick that those of Camelot would stumble from the lake and back toward their camp, that the sorcerers would retreat back to the Isle to regroup and give him enough time to make them listen to reason, he whispered frantically, _"Gesweorc, díegle…"_

Another brilliant flash and the log beside him erupted into an inferno, sending burning wood flying. Embers caught in his hair, one sleeve already beginning to blaze. Desperate, he slapped at the flames, his hands throbbing in pain even as the fire died.

He looked up to find Nimueh staring at him.

There may have been danger nearby, the constant clash of battle off in the distance, Lysan's shouts and Medraut's hatred, the ringing of swords and fiery death and chaos. But for the moment, they were alone, Merlin and the woman who had destroyed his life.

One hand raised, red light dancing on her fingertips, Nimueh said, "Foolish boy, you have no idea of the forces against you."

"Listen to me," Wincing as he stood up, he said desperately, "You have to listen. Arthur didn't send these men."

"Of course he didn't." Her face painted in reds and heat and eager annihilation, she began to weave her magic into another fireball. "But he'll follow Medraut, just as day follows night, into the trap. And we will triumph over Pendragon at long last."

"Trap?" Merlin's mind was black with horror. He looked around, seeing some yards away the wild struggles between Camelot's men and the sorcerers from the Isle. Littered on the ground were bodies, some still living but more scattered dead burned almost beyond recognition, and there were sorcerers, too, those he'd lived with and studied and laughed with, feathered bolts buried in their lifeless corpses. "You are killing our own kind."

"Sacrifices have to be made." She shrugged, smiling, watching him with triumph in her eyes. "You were the perfect bait."

He felt sick, almost too horrified to think. "I can't let you do this."

Ignoring the sounds of battle drawing nearer, ignoring the thunder of something closing in, he began to gather his own magic. Frantic, he raised one hand towards the heavens, knowing that he'd have to do whatever he could to stop her before she plunged them all into war.

But she just laughed and pointed to the ridge behind him. "Too late, Emrys."

As he looked back, he could see a horde of chain-mailed riders, the brilliant red of Camelot with bright dragons embroidered on their chests and leading them, the golden-haired man he knew far too well.

Arthur and his troops had arrived.

Nimueh was right. It was already too late.

For a moment, Merlin just stood there, frozen in panic, unable to take his eyes off the disaster that was about to descend on them all. His breath caught in his throat, choking him, and as he watched, men on horseback began to pour over the hill, Arthur in the lead, swords gleaming silver as they came closer. It would have been a stirring sight but all Merlin could see was the end of everything.

"No!" He started to run toward them, ignoring the dangers around him as he shouted, "It's a trap!"

Fire flashed past him, aiming straight for Arthur and he didn't even think, just threw out his hand and pushed the danger away, up and out toward the lake, leaving his friend unharmed.

But Merlin should not have ignored his own peril.

There was a sudden sizzle and the tree in front of him started to blaze up. He twisted back and sent a wall of wild magic toward Nimueh, pure instinct. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her flying up into the air and down again and then he turned away, only silence behind him. He knew that Nimueh was unconscious or dead, and no longer a threat at the moment and Merlin had to tell his friend the truth before it was too late.

"Arthur, it's a trap," he repeated. "You have to get out of here." The horror in his voice must have gotten through the battle chaos.

Jerking at his reins, slowing the horse as some of his men clustered protectively around him, Arthur stared down at him, frowning confusion. Whether or not he still thought of him as an enemy, he must have known that Merlin had just saved his life. Whether it would make a difference when - if - they ever talked again, Merlin didn't know but it didn't matter. He'd save Arthur a thousand times over, even at the sacrifice of his own life if he had to and he'd never count the cost.

It seemed like an eternity, Merlin and Arthur gazing wordlessly at each other, old connections, old memories crowding them. Then everything turned into chaos.

Geraint was nudging his mount forward, impatient, trying to catch the king's attention. Arthur started to say something but there was a sharp cry in the distance, sounds of fighting growing more desperate. His head turned in that direction and then glancing back first at Nimueh's silent body and then at Merlin, Arthur's mouth hard and eyes flattened with determination, the king wheeled away, pulling on his horse and took off, his troops hot on his trail. Into the woods, and Merlin lost sight of them, the smoke and bright fires making it difficult to see.

There were more screams, the sound of metal against metal, the whiz of crossbows firing and thud of bolts hitting trees and flesh. Fireballs blazed and whole trees were now torches, making the air stiflingly hot.

Beyond, Merlin could hear the horses panicking, shrill sounds of fear. He knew from what little Arthur had taught him so long ago was that the knights would have to dismount and fight on foot, unable to guide their frightened horses and attack the sorcerers at the same time.

And that would mean that they'd be more vulnerable, too. He started to run fast toward where he knew Arthur would be, in the thick of battle.

Merlin had to protect him; he had to stop this madness before death took them all.

Already panicking, the smoke and heat almost too much to bear, his mind frenzied with desperation, it took him precious moments to finally figure out what to do next. When he finally did, finally, he could have smacked himself with annoyance; it was too simple and he was an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.

Of course. Elemental. Water to put out the fires.

He'd learned that ages ago with Arthur when they'd fought the afanc; he'd used it himself against Nimueh the day Arthur had discovered his magic. What a fool he'd been.

Rain would make things difficult for both sides. The sorcerers would have one less weapon to use against the knights; fighting in rain and mud, too, would hamper the men of Camelot, slowing them down.

Summoning his magic, he lifted one hand and called out to the heavens, " _Tídrén, ácwence heaðufýr."_

For a long moment, nothing happened and then clouds began to gather, the day growing darker with his every breath. "Come on, come on," he muttered, desperate, knowing that every second counted, that lives hung in the balance. When the first droplets began to fall, it seemed almost as if the fires were protesting, bellowing steam and a sharp acrid mist was rising fast. A battle of fire against water and the water was winning, slowly, so slowly.

Screams in the distance and then there was a great shout of triumph. Arthur must have reached Medraut's location; Merlin ran lightning-fast toward them.

When he got to the battleground, the trees were charred almost beyond recognition and there was mud everywhere. So, too, was the scatter of bodies in Camelot red and lifeless corpses of those from the Isle, the dead clustered in piles around each other.

It would appear that the battle was now evenly drawn. The rain and Arthur's forces had pushed it back into balance, overwhelming numbers fighting against magical ability, destruction and death strewn everywhere. Merlin wanted to weep at the utter futility of it all.

Arthur, of course, was in the thick of things. Two sorcerers, one pale as death, a feathered bolt in his chest, were sending rocks and broken swords and even a knighted corpse tottering toward the king, obviously trying to find a vulnerability to use against him. But he was impossibly good and they were only growing more desperate with every failed attempt to defeat him.

Balance, too, with Medraut and Lysan at each other's throats. Hatred for hatred. The sorcerer's eyes feral with blood-lust and Medraut matching his with a fury that was almost unbearable to watch.

Lysan was bent back, fighting desperately against the knight, Medraut pushing him down and down, trying to grab for his knife while Lysan's hand was at the knight's throat. Snarling, gasping, two enemies locked in a death-grip. Under the noise of battle, there was a strangled whisper. " _Swíðe elne_."

Merlin heard more than saw the crunch of bone but there was sharp white cutting through the skin at Medraut's throat, blood trickling down into the mail. Looking as if he were struggling to breathe, mouth open in agony, eyes bulging, the knight began to turn first red, then shroud-white. He must have realized that he was already dead and yet still he tried to destroy the other man. Holding onto Lysan, he stumbled forward, pulling him down, both of them slipping in the mud as they fell.

Grunting, a moan and then quiet against the still-falling rain, and when Lysan finally staggered up, there was a lifeless corpse at his feet. Medraut was dead.

Merlin expected sounds of triumph from the sorcerer but instead, as the man twisted around, he could see Medraut's knife protruding from Lysan's chest, blood and entrails leaching out around the jewelled blade.

Lysan lurched forward, horror clouding his face. Grasping the knife hilt, his fingers slipping on the blood, he managed to pull it free. A sharp breath as he stumbled back, for a moment he stared at the blade and the gore staining his fingertips, and up at Merlin. Then still clutching the knife, Lysan collapsed, slumping over Medraut's body and died.

But there was no time for mourning.

Arthur was in trouble. One of the sorcerers had managed to get in a strike, Arthur's arm bleeding and there was a trickle of red staining his fingertips. Slowing down, still fighting with brilliance but it wouldn't be long now. The other knights were better off and they were fighting, too, trying to disarm or kill the others but the rain had swollen the crossbow strings into uselessness and they had to use knives or swords instead. They couldn't get close enough, not against the sorcerers.

Luckily, Merlin was in the clear, no one close enough to him to interfere. Heart racing, he waited impatiently, looking for a chance to separate those from the Isle and the men of Camelot without more loss of life. As the sorcerers stepped back, appearing to regroup for another attack, he saw his chance. Sending a wall of wild magic careening toward the knights and guards surrounding them, figures flew in the air and down again, Arthur among them.

For a brief second, those from the Isle were standing alone. Using every bit of power he had at his command, Merlin shouted, " _Astýre drýas to æge éadgiefe!_ "

There was a great roaring wind and the whip of rain began to twist around, a blinding cyclone of energy and will, branches and wet leaves and mud churning high and one by one, the sorcerers disappeared from sight. Their protests followed them, echoing bitter words into the tumult. But there wasn't enough time for counter-spells. As they faded away, transported back to the Isle, Merlin slumped in relief.

After the noise of battle, it was suddenly quiet. A time between heartbeats, when the future waited breathlessly to begin. Into the silence, he could hear the plop-plop of cool rain against leaves, the final hiss of fires going out and injured men groaning. Off to his left, a tree crumbled into broken limbs and ash, a crackling, sharp sound that faded back to stillness.

The men who could were rising back to their feet, hands grasped around seeping wounds or else searching for swords or knives, their faces churned in frowns and pain. Arthur, too, was scrambling up, his silver blade stained with blood and restless in his hand. He was looking around, urgency in his eyes, obviously bracing himself for the next threat.

When Arthur saw Merlin standing there, he froze. A moment's pause between them, then Arthur doggedly limped toward him, the troops he'd brought and those still alive of Medraut's cadre, a great mass of men, following behind their king. He stopped just a sword's thrust away, waiting, waiting, his face blank, giving nothing away.

As he faced a sea of Camelot red, Merlin never felt so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bedyrne mé." = Conceal me  
> "Gesweorc, díegle…"= Fog, hide/cover the…  
> "Tídrén, ácwence heaðufýr". = Rain, put out the cruel fire.  
> "Swíðe elne."= Grow very strong.  
> "Astýre drýas to æge éadgiefe!" = Take the sorcerers to the Isle of the Blessed.


	10. Chapter 10

"Arthur…." Merlin stumbled back into silence, blinking desolation at the sudden change in Arthur's eyes. There was a wildness there, a play of regret and battle fury, of confusion and resolve. The king's silver blade dipped slightly, perilously close, and then steadied, the point a hairsbreadth from Merlin's chest.

He didn't know what Arthur would do, hoped that whatever the choice, it would be quick. Merlin stood there, his heart beating wildly, heard the rise and fall of Arthur's ragged breathing, saw the trickle of blood soaking into Pendragon red and the grime of quenched fires smeared across one cheek, looked for forgiveness in the man he'd pledged himself to all those years ago.

The silence was deafening. Long, long moments of waiting, of Arthur deciding his fate.

From behind the king, there was a snap of wood and the quiet was filled with sudden rage as one of the men, Sir Balin, a knight who had fought beside Medraut, pushed forward. "Why are you just standing there? He's one of them. Kill him." Geraint grabbed one arm, holding the man back as he continued to snarl out his hatred. "Kill him before it's too late."

Turning abruptly, the sword so close to Merlin's heart now pointing directly at Balin, Arthur shouted, "Silence!" He drew back, his eyes scanning the others clustered around the knight, Arthur's disgust clear in the way he held himself and the set of his mouth. "You can count yourself lucky that I haven't given the order to hang every last one of you traitors from the nearest tree." His gaze flicked to the rest of Medraut's men and then back to Balin. "As yet."

The threat hung heavy in the cold rain. A murmur of protest, subdued and whisper-contrite spread through the group, but Balin was not so wise. "Majesty, your father…."

From the way Arthur stiffened, it was clear he was standing on the edge of a precipice, that a single word might push him into doing something Merlin knew he'd later regret. He never looked more like Uther than at that moment.

"Be glad I am _not_ my father. For disobeying him, he would have gutted you and left you for the crows." His voice full of loathing, harsh and discordant, and every inch a king's, he said sharply, "You will be silent until I give you leave to speak, is that clear?"

With all the swiftness of an executioner's axe, silence fell. There was nothing but the sound of rain, the shuffle of restless horses and the muted groans of the wounded.

"Geraint." The knight's gaze snapped back to Arthur's. He was still holding onto Balin, a little too tightly if the man's pained face was any indication but he didn't let go as the king said, "Take those who followed Medraut, all except Balin here, and have them help you with the wounded. They are still under suspicion of treason and you will treat them accordingly. Some of our men will guard them, the rest will set up camp by that clearing. You know the one. We passed it earlier, a hundred yards back."

"Yes, sire, I know the place." Contempt clear in Geraint's eyes, he nodded toward Balin whose face was now a sickly white. "What do you want to do with this… person?"

"Leave him here. I wish to question him and the sorcerer further." When Geraint started to protest, Arthur just shook his head. "Don't try my patience. Not now. I'll make sure he behaves himself."

Reluctantly, Arthur's second-in-command let Balin go, although not without a heated glare that promised a lifetime of agony if anything happened to the king. With a sharp bow of his head, Geraint turned away and began to gather his forces to follow the king's commands.

Sending one long, pointed glare toward a subdued Balin, then sweeping his gaze across the now-busy knights, his own and Merdaut's chosen few, Arthur fixed his attention firmly back on Merlin. His sword's hilt in one hand, its blade-point resting on sodden leaves, still the king looked ready for judgment. "Emissary, this is no way to achieve peace."

For one split-second, he was so little used to the title Arthur used that Merlin was tempted to look behind him to see who the king was addressing. But then it hit him. The damn prat was blaming him for this disaster.

Temper flaring, his voice almost strangled in disbelief, Merlin said, "We were only defending ourselves. We had no choice."

"There is always a choice." Winter-cold, Arthur's eyes flicked downward and then off into the distance. There was a tightening around his mouth as he stood there and Merlin could see the effort it cost him not to react. Arthur had always been one to pour everything of himself into righting wrongs and fighting for his people. And now, instead of striking down someone who he must have thought was his worst enemy, to stand there talking with a hated sorcerer must have hurt. He could see it in Arthur's face and the set of his shoulders, the way he held the sword so tightly in his grip.

Merlin looked away, too, his gaze falling on the carnage, the pointless ruin of it all. Beyond the wounded and Geraint's organized band, there was a scatter of dead bodies among the trees, their corpses soaked in blood or else half-charred from unearthly fires.

But unlike Arthur, he saw more than Camelot's loss. There weren't just chain-mailed bodies sprawled across the still-smoking woods. His own people had been hacked to bits or choked to death on their own blood when feathered bolts plunged in.

This was the depth of destruction that the war between them had wrought.

His despair caught in his throat and for a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak for the horror of it. Finally, swallowing back the grief, he said, "Arthur, you…."

Cutting him off, his face flushed with anger, Arthur brought the sword up for a second and then thrust it, hard and furious into the muddy ground, shaking as if he couldn't trust himself not to plunge it into Merlin's chest. "You were supposed to talk to your people, get them to send someone else in your place." His eyes narrowed and he said, with more than a little distrust, "Or is killing my men their answer?"

" _Your_ men were attacking us. Did you expect us to roll over and let them kill us without fighting back?"

Something in Merlin's voice must have gotten through to him because Arthur blinked back in surprise, frowning a sudden thoughtfulness that hadn't been there before. For a moment, the king said nothing, merely looked around again at the carnage, almost as if he were counting his dead and Merlin's, too.

"And now?" At least the fury was gone. What else lay beneath Arthur's steady gaze was beyond Merlin to decipher.

He shrugged, feeling miserable and confused and as uncertain as ever. "It's complicated."

"When is it not with you?" Arthur's tart reply would have been a joke between them four years ago. Now it only sounded contemptuous. "Do I need to prepare for another attack? Will they come back with reinforcements?"

At least he wasn't assuming the worst.

Frustrated, Merlin pulled cold fingers through his wet hair, and wiped a muddy smear of something across his chest. He was exhausted and terrified of what the sorcerers at the Isle might be planning next and his wound was aching and Arthur wanted answers, of course. At some point, he'd like to stop the rain, too, although he doubted that Arthur would appreciate him using magic at the moment.

Nodding toward the lake, Merlin said, "Very likely. I tried to get them to see reason but once Medraut and his men showed up, they thought I'd turned traitor." He shook his head, saddened that it had come to this, then remembering how things had been at the Isle, how they'd accused him of leading Camelot forces to their hiding place, he scowled questions at Balin. "I didn't leave a trail. I'm not even sure how Medraut knew where to look."

There must have been answers behind Balin's silence; the man was looking very, very guilty. But it didn't matter. They'd already been talking for far too long and Arthur needed to leave before those at the Isle came back to fight again.

"Sire, Nimueh said…." Arthur's face tightened and Merlin almost stumbled to a stop, startled by the loathing in narrowed eyes and the king's set mouth. Another deep stab of grief but he shoved it aside; he didn't have time for this. Even so, some of the frustration and loss still bled through as he said, "No matter what you think, I'm not siding with her!"

There was a flash of suspicion in Arthur's eyes but he nodded for Merlin to continue. "Nimeuh told me it was a trap for you, that you'd follow Medraut here, that you'd have to fight no matter what. You've got to leave before it's too late."

"It is already too late." He tried to ignore the satisfaction in Balin's face, tried to ignore his own desperation as Arthur said coldly, "Do you think my people will accept magic back once they find out what you've done here?"

Merlin shoved himself forward, unbidden anger flaring, misery and pain and utter frustration sweeping through him. He was trembling with the intensity of it as he snarled back, "What we've done _here_ is defend our home. They'd have killed everyone, even the children, and you know it."

Arthur held his ground, staring at him oddly as if he'd suddenly sprouted wings or gone mad. Merlin had never learned how to get what he wanted with soft words or with a courtier's manipulation, never learned how to rein in his temper when he needed to, at least not with Arthur, never learned to be subservient. Once, it might have amused Arthur to see him struggling with courtly protocols; now it appeared that he was just the enemy and not worth the time.

From behind him, Merlin could hear the rattle of chainmail coming fast but Arthur waved the men off. "I will handle it." There was another mutter of complaint, Geraint likely, but it, too, faded as Arthur turned to Balin. "What do you have to say about his accusation?"

Balin's gaze flicked to Merlin, heated triumph in his eyes and then as he bowed low to Arthur, he drew it out for a long, long moment, oily servitude in every movement. When he did straighten, puffed up, sure of his place, his face was eager for a king's favour, only changing into an obscene sneer when he jerked his head toward Merlin.

"He's a liar. We were setting up camp when we spotted him; the little maggot was spying on us. Sir Medraut was going to question him when the other scum showed up and started throwing fireballs and magic at us. We had to fight back."

It was an excellent performance; it only drove Merlin into fury.

He turned to Arthur, sarcasm clear in his voice. "Of course I was spying. I was trying to see if you had… well if you had decided to wipe us out once and for all. I didn't…." Jaw working, a painful scowl cutting deep into his face, he snapped, "But I didn't attack them. They started it, firing their crossbows and throwing knives at my back as I ran away. Medraut yelling something about slitting my throat after they'd finished questioning me." Merlin scrubbed one hand across his face in frustration. A sharp sting at his cheek and his hand came away slick with half-dried blood; the odd thing was that he didn't even remember getting the wound. "That's when the other sorcerers arrived and then it all went to hell."

For a single heartbeat, there was silence. Then shaking himself clear of the memories, Merlin said, "It doesn't matter now. Go back to Camelot, Arthur. Let me try and fix this somehow. I think I can…."

"I am not going to run away from battle like a whipped dog. I have wounded to treat and dead to honour." A frown marring his face, Arthur lifted his chin, squaring his shoulders, looking for all the world as if he were ready take on a thousand sorcerers if necessary. "A Pendragon doesn't retreat from danger. Ever."

Merlin wanted to weep with frustration. Stubborn, pig-headed and blinded by arrogance, yet Arthur was a man who would always think of his people before himself, would help those less fortunate because it was the right thing to do, a man he remembered and missed every day of the last four damn years. He was also an idiot.

Vexed beyond measure, Merlin snapped back, "That stupid pride of yours will get yourself killed."

"I am not a child to be lectured." Arthur's voice was pure ice. "Least of all by you."

By all the gods, the man was infuriating.

It took a moment or two but Merlin was able to rein in his entirely-justified desire to strangle the bloody fool. It didn't help that a smirking Balin was thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Taking a deep breath, ignoring the swift passage of time and the growing urgency to make the prat see the truth before it was too late, he deliberately softened his voice and tried again. "Sire, if you withdraw a mile or so away from the Isle, they may see it as an attempt at reconciliation. They must know you have wounded who can't travel just yet. I can try and talk to them, get them to agree to a truce at least."

Arthur still looked as immovable as stone but at least he hadn't said no. Taking that as a good sign, Merlin said, "Even if they don't trust me, most of them are reasonable. They'll send someone else to see if I'm telling the truth."

Apparently it was too much for Balin. "Majesty, you can't. He's seen how many of our men are wounded or dead; he's seen our weaknesses. If you let him go, we will lose our only advantage." Overbearing, contemptuous, looking thoroughly confident in the rightness of what he was saying, he all but spat in Merlin's face. "Besides, he's a sorcerer. You know he can't be trusted."

There was a flash of something in Arthur's eyes, pained memories or doubt or judgment, he couldn't tell but Merlin was not above begging for his people.

"Sire, please let me try. The others I sent back to the Isle already know what is at stake and I think…." Merlin swallowed hard, said desperately, "Don't let your hatred of what I've done in the past destroy this one last chance at peace."

" _You_ sent them back?" There it was, the contempt in Arthur's voice and underneath a kind of disbelief. He'd made it sound as though Merlin wouldn't have the brains or the ability to send a rock back, never mind living beings.

Old habits die hard or sometimes not at all. Too familiar, too much like other times when Arthur was being an idiot and Merlin had had to remind him of it, he said automatically, "Of course, I did. I wasn't going to let them kill you, you…." The _prat_ was unspoken but still it hung there in the air between them.

Arthur opened his mouth, probably to argue some nonsense about being able to protect himself without a sorcerer's help, but with every heartbeat, Merlin could feel that time was running out. He cut across Arthur's protests. "Sire, if you want a truce, I need to go now. They are likely readying for another attack while we stand around arguing."

"Majesty, you can't! He's one of them. He'll destroy us all." Balin's voice was rising in fury while Arthur stood there, ignoring him, staring instead at Merlin. "Don't let your weakness for this maggot blind you to his lies."

Abruptly, Arthur rounded on Balin, sword swinging up, bright silver catching the light. There was agitation in the way the king shoved it toward the man, a wild mixture of ferocity and loathing and it was all Balin could do to evade the blade.

Shocked, Balin took a half-step backwards, scrambling out of range. "Sire?"

"That so-called _maggot_ saved my life back there, at great risk to his own."

No doubt looking as much an idiot as Arthur had always said he was, open-mouthed and thoroughly thunderstruck, Merlin stared at the king. He had never thought to hear Arthur speak well of him again, certainly not after all they'd been through together.

"Didn't think I noticed, did you, Merlin? I'm not as blind as Balin here might think." Arthur didn't look at him, was still watching Balin but under all the anger, for a moment, there was a hint of respect. Then whatever warmth Merlin might have thought he heard leached away.

Arthur turned fierce again, eyes hardening into stone. He looked every inch a king about to deliver judgment. "Whereas you, Balin, and Medraut and the others with you disobeyed a direct order and precipitated a war."

The man began spouting some nonsense but Arthur just cut him off. His blade steadied, aiming directly at the Balin's heart as he said almost pleasantly, "So tell me, Sir Balin, who should I believe?"

Merlin could see the fear in the man's eyes, the shroud-white face. Arthur was standing there, sword promising swift death; any other man might have grovelled for mercy. So Merlin could only be stunned by Balin's tenacity and sheer arrogance when he said, "Your Majesty, you should believe those who have served you and your father loyally for many years, not some lying, treacherous worm who manipulates everything to his own advantage."

"Enough!" Arthur took a step forward, the sword's edge sharp in the light. For an instant, Merlin thought the king might kill Balin after all. If it had been Uther, the knight would be on the ground already, in agony, bleeding out his life on the forest floor. But Arthur wasn't his father.

Hungry retribution in his eyes, for a moment Arthur stared at the man. Then shouting for Geraint, the king stood there, twisting his blade back and forth, death cutting through the air, close but never close enough to injure. It was only when Geraint rushed up to him did he turn the sword away and shove it back into the sodden earth.

Keeping his eyes on Balin, Arthur said, "Geraint, escort this traitor back to his men. We will deal with him later."

"Yes, my lord." There were stumbling objections as Balin tried to persuade Arthur to reconsider but they were ignored; lightning fast, Geraint grabbed one arm, twisting it sharply upward behind his back and then the other, Balin struggling to get free but it was useless. He was well and truly caught.

"Demon spawn! He'll destroy us all. He can't be trusted. He'll gut you and boil your entrails for..." Geraint's free hand pulled hard against Balin's mouth, shutting him up but the muffled protests could be heard even through his fingers.

Geraint, however, seemed to take it all in stride, nodded toward Merlin. "And him, sire?"

"Leave him to me." Balin was struggling harder, his eyes wild and his feet were kicking at Geraint, in vain. "Make sure everyone is prepared. Merlin thinks there will be another attack. I don't want to be caught unawares again."

"Yes, sire." With one final nod from Arthur, Geraint began to march Balin away, the prisoner shouting abuse and paranoia as he struggled to make himself heard. Half-turned toward Arthur, Merlin was still flinching at the impossible lies screaming across the forest when there was a sudden silence and Merlin twisted around to see Balin slung over Geraint's shoulder, clearly unconscious.

"A good man, Geraint." Arthur sounded almost relieved. Scanning the area, probably looking for enemies behind every bush and with good reason, he turned back to Merlin, stared at him with decisions written across his face. "Emissary, now that the rain has stopped, you will go back to the Isle and try to get them to agree to a temporary truce. I think that…."

Arthur's voice seemed to fade out and Merlin could only think of one thing – that he might be a great sorcerer in the making but he was also an idiot. He hadn't noticed, by all the gods, he hadn't noticed.

The rain had stopped, the rain had stopped and Merlin hadn't been the one to do it. Heart pounding, his throat clogged with sudden dread and for a moment, he couldn't breathe, certainly couldn't speak. He hadn't done anything.

The rain had stopped.

He almost didn't hear Arthur shouting at him, but whatever the man was saying, he couldn't grasp it, not when panic was climbing into his mind and shutting everything down. He must have looked wild-eyed and frantic, his hands shaking with worry, and of course he was inarticulate because he was a damn idiot.

"Arthur, Arthur, listen to me. Listen! The rain, it's not supposed to stop, not until I reverse the spell. They must have." The king was standing there, looking at him with growing frustration but Merlin didn't care. He had to get everyone away before it was too late. "Arthur, get out of here. Back that way, at least a mile! There's another clearing further back on the way to Camelot and they…."

"Merlin, slow down. What's wrong?" Arthur was beginning to understand, looking around him as if waiting for sorcerers to appear out of nowhere.

Merlin wasn't listening, though, instead gazing towards the Isle. He could see the vivid glow of something beyond the stone walls and hear the faint sound of chanting. It was discordant, somehow, but then abruptly it changed into a thrum of energy, a pulse of heat and light.

Something lifted into the air, was coming toward them, impossibly bright, trailing sparks that sent plumes of gas and water skyward when they hit the lake, a high arc of dazzling light and then down, down, ever closer. And another a heartbeat behind the first.

Fireballs or worse, it might be far worse.

Ignoring Arthur's questions, ignoring the sword sharp in his hand and the way he was looking at Merlin, he shoved the king toward the woods, "Run, you idiot, run!"

Merlin's terror must have gotten through. Arthur stumbled back a bit, looking towards the Isle just in time to see another of the fireballs soaring into the air. But it didn't matter. The first one was screaming toward them, a huge sphere of rock and fire, glowing red-hot, flames liquid bright. It was arcing down, faster and faster and Merlin could see that it would be close when it hit.

He couldn't wait any longer for Arthur. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he yelled, "Get down!"

The woods around them exploded in a wall of heat and light, half-molten rock flying everywhere. Whizzing past his head, stones shrieking in superheated air, close enough to scorch his skin. The crackle of trees bursting into flame, the screams of men in agony.

Arthur was staggering back, beating at the fire blazing across his chest. Merlin lunged for him, shoving him down and rolling him in the wet mess of mud and steam. The man was trying to fight him off but he wouldn't stop, not until Arthur was safe.

But the king wasn't known to be an excellent warrior for nothing. A punch thrown into Merlin's side and his lungs felt as though they were collapsing. Arthur scrambled up, tunic still smoking, only to duck again as another fireball hit, a little further away. It wouldn't be long before the whole forest was aflame.

Groaning, his body still reeling from Arthur's attack, he struggled to his feet. In the distance, Merlin could hear Geraint yelling for the king and Arthur shouting, "Retreat!"

It was chaos. Men were running fast, the terror of horses fleeing into the woods, the whoosh of steam and pitch as trees turned into torches. The third fireball struck, closer to the lake's edge, sowing more panic than anything but the first two had done enough damage. Most of the troops were on the far edge of the ridge and fleeing, some with wounded, up and over, back towards Camelot.

Arthur started to stagger in that direction, too, obviously to meet up with his troops, create some kind of order as they retreated beyond the reach of the fireballs.

From across the lake, Merlin could see another globe of light, intense and fire-deadly, starting to arc up. He knew the sorcerers wouldn't stop, not until the Camelot forces were out of range. Even then, those at the Isle might pursue them. He had to argue them out of this catastrophe; otherwise, what was left of goodness and right in this place would collapse into never-ending war.

Croaking out Arthur's name, as the king, soot-singed and furious, turned back toward him, Merlin wheezed, "Have… to… go, prat! Save… you."

Arthur ignored the wounded look Merlin sent him. Instead, he pointed into the air, out toward the approaching blaze. "You're a sorcerer. Stop this. Stop this, now!"

Looking past the king, he could see that the brilliant fireball was already on its way down, heading straight for the remaining knights. No time for finesse, certainly no time to think about what he was doing, Merlin flung his hand up, throwing magic out toward the fiery stone, " _Ábric_!"

In a great blast of heat and light, the fireball exploded into thousands of smaller fragments, a thousand brilliant points of flame and rock, still raining down on the forest and the lake and the men scrambling to get out of the way. It was no longer a threat of crushing those underneath but he'd spread the fire, not put it out.

"What are you doing?" Roaring, Arthur's face was a furious mixture of exasperation and shock. "You really are the worst…."

Merlin was ready to match him fury for fury. He was trying his best. "It was your fault. I'd have been able to do better if you hadn't hit me. I need to breathe for the spells, you know."

"You bumbling idiot, there's no time for this. Get them to stop before it's too late!" Arthur's gaze was taking in everything, looking around, desperate.

"I'll go, I'll go but promise me you won't take any chances." It was clear that the king was only half-listening to him but something must have penetrated that thick skull of his. Arthur turned to stare at him, disbelief in his eyes as Merlin said, "Please, Arthur. I won't be here to protect you and if they come back, you'll have no defences against them."

"I'm perfectly capable, you damn fool."There was a huff, of laughter, of remorse, of affection, Merlin couldn't tell but Arthur only said, "But if it will get you to move, I promise. Now go!"

Nodding, wishing everything could have been different and knowing that every second counted, Merlin stood back, gathering magic into his fingertips, into his mind. Chanting the spell that would take him back to the Isle, things began to haze out, wind picking up and there was the movement of fire and light and breathless anticipation and through it all, he could see Arthur watching him.

Then the tired, soot-washed face of his king faded away.


	11. Chapter 11

The courtyard was full of sound. Merlin touched down amidst the chaos: people loading stone onto catapults, guards pressed hard against the granite walls, weapons and hatred in their hands, and there were old ones and children scurrying through the bedlam, carrying buckets or rocks or a hundred other things that he couldn't even begin to guess at.

On the parapet, Talisen was roaring out orders. Too far away for Merlin to hear, it was obvious that the others could. As he struggled to get closer, the rock in one of the catapults was suddenly flame bright, half-molten in the sling, ready to rain terror on Camelot's troops. But before Merlin could do anything, the fireball was already in the air, arcing towards Arthur's location.

He couldn't let it reach the shore. He couldn't.

Sending out a wave of desperate magic, he shouted, " _Ábric_!"

For one heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. Then rock and flames lit the sky in a fiery explosion of colour and sound and smoke, brilliant light blossoming in the air. Behind Merlin, there was a shocked silence, enough that he could hear the sound of falling debris hitting the lake and water boiling as the molten rock sunk beneath the surface. Clouds of steam billowed upwards, obscuring the trees beyond.

"Seize him!" Merlin turned around, watched as guards scurried toward him. He knew it would make it easier to reach Talisen but it saddened him, too, to see his once-friends looking at him with such hatred. Even the children were backing away.

He looked around frantically, hoping to see at least one understanding face. It would have been good to have Gaius by his side but he knew the physician would be busy with the wounded. As least there was no sign of Nimueh. That was a relief. He wouldn't have been able to deal with her lies, not now, not when he needed to get them to stop this madness; she would have only made things worse - if that were possible.

As Merlin was pushed before Talisen, the crowd began to move again, obviously going back to doing whatever they had been before his interference but they gave him a wide berth. It was clear, though, that unless he was able to stop this somehow, they would continue to bombard Arthur's location until there was nothing left but ash.

Brene, the older woman who had tried to keep him on the Isle a few hours before, whispered something in Talisen's ear, pointed in Merlin's direction. The man only shook his head, folding his arms across his chest like some kind of shield. He looked thoroughly unhappy to see him. But that didn't matter. One way or another, whatever it took, Merlin would keep his promise and find a way to bring peace back to Camelot.

"Emrys, have you lost your mind?" Brene frowned at him, clucking her dismay as he was shoved forward.

Ignoring her, aware of the activity behind him, of the growing danger that they were about to send more fireballs towards Arthur and his men, Merlin stared up at Talisen, and said urgently, "You have to stop this. Arthur has agreed to a truce."

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation. Talisen spat out, "And why should we believe anything you say, traitor?"

He looked beyond Merlin, nodded to some unasked question and the sound of whispers and something large being hauled toward the catapults, likely oil-soaked rock to bombard Camelot's troops, only made Merlin more desperate.

"Talisen, please. He wants a truce." Looking for any sign that the sorcerers gathered around him were sympathetic to Merlin's frantic pleas and finding only suspicion, he drew back, frowning at them, challenging them. "If you don't believe me, send someone else and they'll confirm it."

"You said that last time and he murdered them." Talisen's fury was palpable, a living thing.

"He didn't!" Merlin was already shouting and he knew it would do no good. He knew that anger would only make things worse, make them dismiss anything he had to say, give them an excuse to continue the attacks. But it was so hard to remain calm. With every heartbeat, he could feel this last chance for peace slipping away.

His anxiety ratcheted upward, building, building until he could hardly breathe. Behind him, sounds of war were growing into a frenzy, people scurrying across cobblestones, the scrape of boots and buckets being dragged, the whispers turning into orders and then into demands.

He didn't want to look, dreaded the knowledge that they were hurrying to finish what they had started, that they were unyielding in this, the utter destruction of Camelot and its king. But when he did look, finally gave in and turned around, what he saw drove him to desperation.

Another cluster of rocks was already loaded onto one of the catapults and glowing with heat. Molten-bright and he could see one of the men reaching for the slip-hook release. A moment or less and a fireball would be soaring toward Arthur.

Even as he drew in a breath, getting ready with another spell to try and stop them somehow, the sling twisted skyward. Soaring, arcing, the molten mass spitting flame and death, as beautiful as it was deadly and Merlin couldn't let it reach the shore.

Ignoring the sounds of sudden protest, he flung out his hand, desperate to stop it all and…

His head engulfed in agony. White and reds and black blurring his vision. One side of his face felt as if it had been shredded, streaks of pain blossoming across his skin, cutting through all his defences and he toppled down, like some kind of puppet with its strings cut, and lay there. There was more blunt-edged agony, kicks thrusting into his stomach and side and he was spitting blood and bile as he huddled on the ground and tried not to faint.

Dimly, he could hear someone protesting. A woman's voice he thought but it was far away and he was in too much pain to wonder who she was or lift his head to thank her. Instead, he curled inward, a grey mist settling into his vision. Unconsciousness was pulling at him; it seemed a better place than the cold cobblestones underneath him or the agony in his belly.

He wanted to let go. Would have let go except for one thing.

Arthur needed him, although he couldn't remember why exactly.

There was arguing somewhere over his head and a gentle cool touch soothing his face. A smear of something across his cheek, sharp and almost agonizing and then gradually the pain was leaching away. He could smell yarrow, comfrey, and sweet honey binding it all, something Gaius had once taught him to use long ago, but the hands were long-fingered and soft and not the comforting strength of his old mentor and he tried to push them back. It was all so confusing.

Behind him, he could hear rumbling and the whooshing sound of a catapult in use and somehow the fog began to lift. Arthur needed him.

He put one hand out, pushed hard against the cold stones, tried to force himself up. He was having a hard time breathing and he hoped, dimly, that nothing was broken. Above him, surrounding him, he could hear the harsh mutters of weaponed guards, could see the fists and boots of restless foes waiting for the word to send him back into agony.

But as his mind struggled to clear, behind him, he heard one of the witches say sharply, "Stop this. He was brave enough to come back instead of running away. He might be telling the truth."

"Dryes, you are mistaken. He's Pendragon's man, not ours."

Dryes the peace-maker, the one who saw beyond revenge. Merlin remembered her, now, cool, solid Dryes who could argue with the best of them and come out ahead of the game. She was a match for Talisen and more. "Even if he is Pendragon's man as you say, his actions only show that he's trying to stop this damnable war before it goes any further. Surely you must see that."

"You are too naïve for your own good. He tried to stop the bombardment. What other reason could there be but that he wanted to sabotage our efforts." Talisen's voice was rising sharp.

His voice barely above a whisper, Merlin protested, "I wasn't. I only…." He struggled to sit up, pain shooting through his gut and across his chest, and he huddled there, trying to breathe, trying to stay conscious long enough to stop this. "Talisen, listen to me, you must listen. It was all a mistake."

"I'm sure it was." The other sorcerer gave a short laugh, scathing and furious. "Pendragon's mistake."

"Please, Talisen." There was a forest of legs surrounding him but they began to shuffle out of the way as Talisen and his council pushed forward. Dryes was still kneeling beside Merlin, her hands gentle against his back, supporting him. He sent her a grateful smile before looking up at Talisen. "Arthur's arrested the men from Camelot who started this. They deliberately went against his orders. They are going to be tried for treason."

"He's still there, still threatening our territory." The man shook it off, turned away, as if Merlin's protests were nothing to him. "We will end this, Emrys, while we still can. And no one is going to stop us, least of all you."

The venom in Talisen's voice left him stunned and for a moment he could only sit there, weak and useless, shivering with desperation. Behind him, beyond the mutter of people above him, there were sounds of rushing feet and sharp orders, something heavy being dragged and the click-click of a catapult drawing back for another volley. Magic and fury tainted the air, sulphur and smoke and death waiting to be unleashed.

He hadn't been able to stop it. For all his efforts, it hadn't been enough and now it only made him frantic. If he couldn't find a way to change Talisen's mind or those who stood with him, it would all be for nothing.

Gathering his strength, ignoring the pain in his gut and the fragile feel of skin against rough stone, he struggled to his feet. If he were going to find defeat in all this, he wanted to do it as Arthur would, standing tall, facing them with honour and courage in his heart. Dryes was a solid presence behind him, catching his elbow when, still dizzy, he staggered a bit. But then as he steadied, she let him go.

"Listen to me!"

At the defiance in Merlin's voice, Talisen turned back at last, glaring at him, a wild, dangerous look. But that didn't stop Merlin, not when so much was at stake.

"Arthur wasn't threatening you. He came to arrest Medraut, not start a war but you attacked him. Of course, he fought back. What else would you expect him to do? Stand by and let you kill his people?"

For a moment, Merlin thought he might have gotten through. Several of the others listening to their argument were murmuring questions, sounding almost sympathetic; at least they hadn't tried to shut him up again. But he was growing increasingly worried. He could see the catapult out of the corner of his eye and the rocks in the sling were beginning to heat up, their oil veneer smoking. He didn't have much time.

"Arthur was retreating when I came back here. He may be already at the ridge or past it by now." Faster, almost tripping over his words as he tried to make them see the truth, Merlin all but shouted, "Damn it, Talisen, he was retreating. He wants peace but he won't for long. Not if you keep firing at him."

Shaking with worry, Merlin pointed to the catapult, primed and ready for the kill. It would take but a single motion and another fireball would be arcing toward disaster. "You have to stop this before it's too late."

Talisen was shaking his head and turning away when Brene spoke up. "He may be right. We need more information. If he is telling the truth, this is a perfect opportunity to get Pendragon to agree to peace. If Emrys is lying, then we'll know for sure and can deal with him accordingly."

"What can it hurt to listen?" Dryes stepped forward, one hand reaching out, as if in supplication. "Talisen, don't let your grief blind you to this."

Twisting back, his voice cold thunder, he scowled at Dryes. "It's not blindness but necessity."

His gaze swept the courtyard, Talisen looking first at Merlin and then to the others hurrying about, the rock saturated with oil piled by the catapults, the buckets in young hands and the bundles in old. Lifting his head, he stared out toward the far shore, its trees a blazing inferno, smoke and ash rising fast above a firestorm of bright colour and death. Talisen's eyes hardened, looked back toward Merlin and then finally resting on the man waiting to pull the release. A single nod.

Merlin's protest caught in his throat. A thing of deadly beauty as the fireball rose into the sky, spitting flame and searing heat, flying toward Arthur, the wind loud as the catapult's sling slapped back, the sounds of exultation as the crowd watched it spinning away.

For a moment, Merlin stood there, stunned, frozen in disbelief. All his words had been for nothing; they were going to kill Arthur after all.

Then as he drew back, was ready to summon his magic, shout out another spell, a thousand spells if only it would end this calamity, an arm wrapped around his throat and pulled tight.

Panicked. Couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't chant the words necessary to stop it.

Struggling, desperate to break free. Merlin needed to make things right. He clawed frantically at whatever fool held him prisoner, his fingers digging deep into the flesh. There was a sharp yelp of pain but somehow the arm only pressed harder into his throat. His vision began to darken, the world around him growing dim; all he could see was the bright blaze, dazzling and deadly, arcing toward the distant shore.

It would obliterate everything in its path. He couldn't let it happen, refused the unthinkable.

Magic was still his, though: deep, instinctual and at his command. He's been able to use it before he could walk and he'd be damned if he'd stop now. Grasping for it, gathering it into his mind, he started to push outwards, tendrils of energy reaching, halting the flow of time itself. The fireball hanging like a fiery star above the lake and Merlin's heart was thudding wild triumph. He'd done it, saved Arthur again.

Talisen's face cut across the brilliance, was there wavering in front of him, his dark eyes half-mad with loathing. His hand flared out and fingertips were squeezing vice-tight around Merlin's jaw, the wound on his cheek pulling open in a blaze of pain as the sorcerer snarled, "Stop what you are doing or I'll cut your throat myself."

For a moment, Merlin couldn't understand what Talisen was saying. The words were arcane nonsense, indecipherable. But the arm cutting off his air was still there, pressing tight and it was taking all of his concentration to keep the fireball from flying free.

As he struggled against near-asphyxiation and the growing agony of fingers digging bruise-deep into muscle and skin and blood, it was becoming clearer and clearer that Talisen was serious, deadly serious. Merlin could see it in his eyes and the set of his mouth and the way his hand shook as he gripped Merlin's face. And there was a dagger in his other hand. "Stop it, Emrys. Stop it, now."

Brene appeared at Talisen's shoulder, her face pale with worry, and she was frantically pulling on his arm. "Are you mad? Let him go."

He shook her off, jostling Merlin back toward the guard still holding him hostage. The arm around his throat loosened enough to bring welcome air into his lungs but as they struggled, there was another jolt of searing pain across his face and Merlin lost what little control of magic that he had.

It was almost inevitable. Ploughing into the woods, the fireball sent up an explosion of blazing rock and black ash, trees splintering into flame-bright debris that flew skyward and then rained down again, horrifyingly slow. While Merlin watched, despairing, the sounds of destruction echoed across the lake.

Grabbing at Talisen's arm again, Brene turned him to face her. "Have you lost all reason? At least we should be discussing our options in private, not reacting like a damn fool for the world to see."

"You have no idea of what I…." The sorcerer was all but snarling at her, ignoring the crowd that was gathering fast around them and listening to every word.

She shoved herself forward, one hand raised to her throat as if choking, her eyes filled with grief, old but never forgotten. But there was only iced fury in her voice. "I? I have no idea? I lost my entire family to Pendragon's hatred and still I am willing to listen to Emrys. You, on the other hand…."

"Enough!" Breathing heavily, shuddering from some strong emotion - fear, anger, determination, loathing, Merlin couldn't tell - but Talisen seemed to gather himself together. Looking around, he must have realized that Brene was right, that their argument would be better done in private.

"Very well, then. The council room." Talisen didn't even glance at Merlin when he said, "Bring him, too. But keep up the attack. I don't want Pendragon to regroup."

Horrified, Merlin struggled harder against the guard but the man's arm was tight across his throat, and he was gripping Merlin's wrist with crushing force. Barely able to breathe and reeling from the near-agony of his wound on his face, still he dragged his feet, fighting all the way, as the burly man began to march him towards the door.

He needed to get closer to Talisen to try and talk some sense into the man, make him see that this would never work, destroy the catapults if he had to. He couldn't let them keep bombing Arthur's location, not if he had anything to say about it. Struggling to draw in enough breath to stay conscious for a few more moments, Merlin tried to turn around but the guard only tightened his grip, choking him. His vision began to grey.

Barely aware, his mind was playing tricks on him. He thought he could hear Dryes say, "Talisen, I... let your grief condemn... rest of us... stop it... for all our sakes."

Then there was muttering, sharp sounds and footsteps echoing in a hallway and Merlin was dizzy, confused, grey edges fading fast into darker tones, everything bleeding black, Talisen's bitter voice. "Realign the catapults then..., damn you, if… what you want... defend... territory... ridge line."

And then there was nothing at all.


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin hated waking up like this, muddled, knowing that there was something to do and little time to do it but without the slightest idea of what it was. He was laying on something hard, in a large echoing space and he could hear arguments in the distance, too faint to be heard. It didn't help that his throat felt twice its size, bruised and raw, or that one side of his face was numb.

Brene was leaning over him, her worn face scowling in concern or maybe annoyance, it was hard to tell. Her voice whispering something he didn't quite catch but he noticed her fingertips were covered in poultice paste; somehow the smell reminded him of Arthur and injuries and oh...

He sat up so quickly, his head collided with her chin. A mutual exclamation of surprise; she jolted back, holding one side of her face with a green-smeared hand; his was less painful but he suspected that would not remain so once the medicine's effects wore off.

Ready to go to battle with Talisen if necessary, he forced himself to stand, or rather try to stand. The room was twisting, a sickening whirlwind of walls and ceilings. He grabbed the edge of the table, taking in deep breaths, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Brene was murmuring something about taking it slowly, that Gaius would be there presently, about how the guard had been over-zealous and that there was time enough for recovery.

But she was wrong. There was no time.

He tried to speak but it took all his concentration just to stand there. The wood was solid under his hand, and it helped in the battle with his own weakness. The room was still moving but less so, not nightmarishly fast as it had been but slow enough that Merlin thought he might be able to walk and not fall on his face. It didn't help that the air was as heavy as boulders, scraping down his throat and grinding into hurt somewhere in his chest; it was almost too much effort to breathe.

"Have…," Rough pain clawed at him, muscles constricting when he tried to speak. He shoved past it, desperate to know what had been going on in the minutes, hours, days since he'd been unconscious. He rasped out, "The fireballs?" Another step, he reached out and shook her arm. "Have they… stopped?"

She gave his hand a reassuring pat. "Emrys, the bombardment hasn't stopped but we've slowed it down considerably. And," she continued before he could interrupt, "the fireballs, mostly stone now that we are conserving the oil, are only going about a hundred feet in at most. Not past the ridge where you said Pendragon was heading."

"Not… enough." Even half-whispering, the reproach in his voice made her recoil.

"It is enough for now, Emrys." Jerking away from his grip, she said sharply, "You should remember your place here. The fact that Pendragon's troops found us so easily and so soon after you returned from Camelot does not speak well of you. In fact, it is highly suspicious."

"I didn't…." Before he could finish, his chest spasmed and he started to choke, gasping for air. Luckily the table was still there. Hands splayed across it to keep him from falling, and there was something hard and wet pressed up against his lips. The scent of water and moisture cool across his mouth, he grabbed the goblet and drank, greedily, desperately, hoping to quiet the cough.

"Take it slowly or you'll make it even worse." There was a touch of affection there but it soon melted into concern. The measuring gaze she sent him was worrying. He must have looked pretty bad to warrant the deep frown on her face, may even be worse off than he thought. His chest still hurt; he had to wonder if something was broken after all. He knew there would certainly be boot-shaped bruises marring his chest.

At least the pain from the shallow wound on his arm and the burns scattered on his hands and wrist had dulled to an ache and could be ignored for now. He didn't even want to think about the gash on his face; he could feel the edges of the poultice pulling on his skin and the numbness there. It did not bode well.

Brene shook her head, watched him. "Sometimes, I think you are capable of fooling us all with those innocent looks of yours and… sometimes I think you are just an idiot."

In days past, when things were different, he might have smiled, maybe mock-protested about the idiot part but now he just let it go. A small part of him mourned the loss.

Looking up, setting the near-empty glass on the table, Merlin was about to ask about the bombing, try to get them to reconsider when, from the corner of the room, Dryes's voice rose high and sharp.

"Is this what you think your wife would have wanted? She went with Nimueh to try and stop the war, not turn it into this."

Turning toward the sounds of argument, Merlin could see Dryes and Talisen glaring at each other, a cluster of others in a semi-circle around them. The woman was flush with anger, her small form unyielding, as defiant as Merlin had ever seen her. Talisen, on the other hand, towered over her, looking strangely disconcerted, a mixture of fury and grief that seemed to paint him shroud-pale.

Merlin began to stagger toward them, his fingers gripping the table's edge and then Brene's warm hand was on his arm, a steady support. But no one was paying attention to them. Instead, all eyes were fixed on Talisen.

For a moment, the man just stood there, gaping, his mouth working at some unspoken riddle. Even yards away, Merlin could see that he was holding himself rigid, looking as if he'd fly apart with a single movement.

Dryes started to say something, Merlin couldn't hear what it was, but Talisen lunged forward, hands up, roaring at the witch. "They as good as murdered her."

Another man, one Merlin didn't recognize, held him back, whispering something in his ear, obviously trying to calm him down. Talisen just shook him off, and walked away, still distraught. Even from a distance, Merlin could see how furious the man was.

For a moment, Talisen looked as if he might leave altogether. But instead, almost blindly, he found the fireplace, leaned forward, one hand on the mantle and stood there, silently staring down at the cold ash in the hearth. His other hand scrubbed across his face, covered his mouth. Merlin could see that his shoulders were shaking and it was only then when Merlin realized Talisen was on the edge of collapse.

The man who led their people had always been cool, reasoning through things but with the goal of keeping the Isle and its inhabitants safe and sound. A good friend or so he thought until this debacle. But if his wife had died as a result of the attack, he didn't know how Talisen would react to it. Anything was possible.

Merlin was unsure what he should do next. Ailia had been a powerful sorceress but also a warm and understanding woman. She deserved more than to have her memory shoved aside because of an idiotic war that no one really wanted but he also knew every moment he delayed trying to get them to stop the bombing, Arthur might be in danger. And peace might never come if they didn't.

The least he could do was offer some solace. He began to shuffle toward Talisen but as he neared, opened his mouth to speak, Dryes shook her head and gesturing him back a bit. If truth be told, he was only too grateful for the excuse. After all, what could anyone say, really, to someone who'd just lost everything?

Dryes walked over to Talisen's side, stood a little bit apart for a moment, waiting. She lifted one hand, as though to draw him into a comforting embrace, but let it fall back, leaving him untouched. Gentle and sure, she said, "You were chosen to lead us because of your fair-mindedness and willingness to listen." Talisen just closed his eyes, pain etched on his face. "But you need time to mourn, Talisen. Perhaps someone else would see things more clearly."

Twisting around, Talisen stared at her, his eyes reddened, his face lined in grief. But there was only contempt in his voice. "And who do you suggest take over? You? The naïve pacifist who sees nothing but goodness in everyone."

Dryes jerked back, looking as if she'd been struck. "Of course not. There are any number of people willing to…."

"No, I see clearly enough." Talisen cut her off, grief morphing back into fury again. He stared at her for a moment, then he twisted around, glaring straight at Merlin. Nodding toward him, contempt in the way he frowned and the glint of revenge in his eyes, he snarled out, "Pendragon and his people attacked her, attacked them all. Do you think I will forgive that, that any of us would forgive that so easily?"

Her voice sharp, Brene stepped in front of Merlin, shielding him. "Emrys said that Pendragon being there was a mistake."

"And Ailia's death is made even more meaningless, then?" Talisen's laugh was ugly, no amusement but grief-tinged ferocity. "For a mistake?"

"She died trying to bring us peace. That is never a mistake." Dryes looked as if she might weep, her eyes glittering liquid in the pale light. She sent another glance toward Merlin, a look of sympathy, and then reached for Talisen. He half-stepped back, his face looking uncertain and angry and so deeply into grief that it hurt Merlin just to think about it.

But Dryes wouldn't let Talisen go. Instead, following his retreat, she caught him, pulled him close, close enough to lean her head against his chest for a moment and wrap her arms around him. The man froze, his hands half-raised as if to fend her off, standing there as unbending as a sword or the walls that surrounded the Isle. A moment that melted into sorrow. He curled inward, still shaking, leaning into the embrace.

A breath, two and then in a gentle voice, she said, "Tal, I loved her, too. My dearest friend and I don't know how I'll go on without her." She hesitated, bringing one hand up to press against his chest, where his heart lay. "Don't desecrate her memory like this. She wouldn't want you to sacrifice peace in her name. She'd hate it."

A half-shake of his head but at least Talisen wasn't pulling away. Dryes gathered him close again and then let him go. "Talk with Pendragon. See what he has to say. If this is a ruse, we'll destroy him once and for all but at least try." A final plea. "Tal, please, for Ailia's sake."

Glancing around the room at the sorcerers gathered there, looking as lost as Merlin had ever seen him, Talisen shook his head. His voice was a rough whisper in the waiting silence. "Dryes, you know the council will need to agree to this. Something this important…."

"Most of the council is here already, all except for Gaius and Nimueh." Dryes said it so calmly but a shiver went through Merlin at the sound of Nimueh's name. She'd been disturbingly absent. He hadn't hurt her enough to warrant the infirmary and he was beginning to wonder if she wasn't plotting something else, perhaps the downfall of Arthur or covering her tracks. He wouldn't put anything past her.

There was a swelling mutter of argument among the others, scraps of quarrels that echoed in the large room. More than a few glanced in Merlin's direction, their frowns heavy enough for thunderclouds; measuring looks and honest confusion were scattered there, too. All understandable. They were about to make a decision that could forever change the destiny of those at the Isle, for all of Albion, and Merlin was still an unknown factor in this – a possible traitor or key to their salvation.

Dryes raised her voice, sending it reverberating outward, gathering everyone's attention. "We all know the prophesies. We all know what is at stake." She left Talisen's side, stepped into the centre of the hall, and then began to turn slowly, meeting first Merlin's worried eyes and then each person's gaze with her own. "If we ignore this opportunity to talk with Pendragon, the war will never end. Both sides will kill and kill and kill until there is no one left." Coming full circle, she looked at Merlin again before lifting one hand to Talisen. "I ask for consent to try one last time to make peace with the High King, Arthur Pendragon of Camelot."

One man called out, Merlin didn't know him, but still the question hung in the air. "Can we trust Emrys?"

He should have expected it. He knew that every eye turned toward him was measuring him, finding him wanting. The very idea that these people, ones he'd once counted as friends, would no longer trust him still hurt, even after all that had happened. A pain to match the one still bruising his chest.

Dryes bowed her head, took a deep breath and let it out, a weary sound and resigned. Straightening, she looked straight at Merlin, her eyes filled with apologies. "I don't know. But it doesn't matter. If we don't take this chance, we'll never have another. And I, for one, would rather die trying to make peace than knowing I threw it all away because I couldn't be bothered to check out his story."

"I agree," said Brene. "It doesn't matter if we trust Emrys or not. We need to try one last time."

The murmurs had died but now the noise rose again, men and women arguing, gestures becoming more heated as Talisen went through the crowd, gathering consensus. There were sharp nods and some heated glares sent Merlin's way but finally, Talisen raised his hand for silence.

"We have fought long and hard, lost …," the sorcerer stopped for a moment. Merlin could see him struggling to breathe, his eyes reddened with unshed tears, his face lined in sorrow. "Lost many to Pendragon's vengeance. But by the will of the council, we will cease bombardment of his location and call a truce to see if the king is sincere in pursuing peace."

Merlin stumbled back, fighting a triumphant grin. Bruised and battered, the wound on his face aching again, his throat still raw from near-strangulation he'd received at their hands but at this moment, he was almost incandescent with relief.

However, it wouldn't do to show how much he'd wanted this, not when so many others had suffered in this war. So instead, he bowed slightly toward the waiting crowd and said solemnly, "Thank you, Talisen. Thank you all."

"Be forewarned, Emrys. If you are lying, you will beg for death before I'm done with you." Talisen's gaze sent daggers toward him, a look that promised furious retribution and a determination to carry it out should anything go wrong. "Magic can be used for many things. Healing is one. Everlasting torment is another."

Swallowing hard, knowing that Talisen was deadly serious, knowing, too, that Merlin had no intention of letting this chance for peace be destroyed because of his own mistakes, he said, "I'll talk with Arthur and see where peace talks can be set up and how soon." Thinking they would follow him into the courtyard and stop the bombing, he was already turning away, already planning on what to do next. "He's been willing to listen so it's just a matter of…."

But when no one moved, he stopped, looking around at the crowd of sorcerers. They had promised to talk to Arthur and yet still he felt a sense of unease, watching frowns growing on their faces. Even Talisen had a scowl. "If you think…."

Merlin never did hear what Talisen was about to say. Derisive laughter splintered the air, full and mocking. He recognized that sound. He didn't need to turn around, didn't need to see the dark shadow sauntering across the room toward them to know her name.

The woman who'd ruined his life, ruined Arthur's life and drove all of them to this moment. Nimueh.

"Willing to listen? Pendragon's whelp?" Another contemptuous laugh as she drew near. The anger crawled up his throat, threatened to undo him. He'd need to remain calm but oh how hard that was.

Wincing with pain, the reminder of just what the sorcerers were capable of burning in his chest, Merlin twisted around to face her. "Better to listen to him than your lies."

Her mouth was drawn back, a scornful parody of a smile, and her eyes were dark with hatred. Her dress, reds and browns and deep black, draped across her and flowed down, trailing across her skin like rivulets of blood. She looked beautiful and as deadly as a poisonous snake and she knew it. Almost mesmerized, the sorcerers turned as one, watching her walk slowly towards Merlin.

"Oh, Emrys, still lying to save _your_ Arthur, I see. I would think you would have grown tired of it by now." She looked around, taking in the gazes of all those around her, her smirk growing only more contemptuous. "Or has he promised you something? Riches, an estate, a title perhaps or was it something more?" The look of feigned innocence on her face was false enough but the seductive tone in her voice made his skin crawl. "Something personal?"

The implications were there. Bribery, betrayal, friendship and the love he had for Arthur turning into something corrupt. Before this moment, he could barely swallow against the bruises on his throat but now there was a boulder on his chest and the fury was all but throttling him. Appalled, he snarled, "How can you say such things?"

"Did I hit a little too close to the mark, _Merlin_?"

He flinched back. There was no mistake. She'd thrown his name down, a gauntlet tossed scornfully at his feet, as if she were challenging him to the death and her so thoroughly sure of victory. The others were staring at her, at him, at the whole scene, puzzled and unsure at first, their faces slack with shock and yet morphing slowly into contempt. They were beginning to listen to her lies and he had no idea what to do.

She gave a delicate snort and flicked her fingertips in his direction, her voice filled with sarcasm. "Oh, the great King Arthur will listen to our pleas." A moment's sympathy sent towards Talisen, a brief warmth before her eyes hardened into stone. "He listened when our friends were hacked to bits, watched blood, our blood haemorrhaging out."

"Stop this." Growing more desperate, Merlin kept watching Talisen. The man was already white as a shroud but he seemed to pale further, shuddering, looking as if he were about to collapse or else turn mad with grief. The others, too, were gazing at them both, growing more horror-struck with every word.

But he knew she wouldn't stop. She wanted to win, some absurd victory over him or as punishment for years of exile or perhaps a final revenge against Uther, to wipe the Pendragon name from the face of the earth and she'd tell any lie to get it. "He listened as those we loved were screaming for mercy and he just smiled and nodded, let his men cut them down without a word. Your precious Arthur, your golden king, listening to their death-throes."

"Nimueh, enough!" Dryes stepped forward, one hand clutching at her throat, looking ill. Her worried gaze kept flicking between Talisen and Nimueh and she was shaking; Merlin wasn't sure whether it was shamed fury for agreeing to try peace one last time or horror over the scenes of carnage painted by the witch's lies.

A cough was tearing at his throat, and it was a moment before Merlin could breathe again. Nimueh stood there, head held high, looking at him with triumph in her eyes, her smile slick as fresh blood. A step, two as he moved toward her, rasping out, "Why are you doing this? You know it's not true."

Playing the wounded victim, she raised her hands in an elaborate shrug, her fingertips fluttering in supplication. "Of course, it's true. Why would I lie?"

"Because you wanted revenge, to make Arthur pay for what his father had done. You'd tried and you failed. You knew you couldn't get to him in Camelot. He was too well guarded." Loathing still tore at his throat but he ignored it. She would use every weakness and he could not allow it, not this time. "So you set a trap and he fell for it."

"You can't be that naïve." Another quick flutter of fingers as she shook her head. He had to wonder if she weren't weaving some kind of spell. The others were slack-jawed, silent, watching them both with a kind of horrified bewilderment. "Uther's son... as if I could trap your beloved Arthur into anything."

She gave a little laugh but all he could hear was derision. He snarled back, "Yes, he is Uther's son. And some things can't be ignored. Disobeying a king? He couldn't let that pass and you know it. He'd have to go after them and bring them back for judgment." He stepped forward, almost close enough to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze. It took all of his strength to let her stand there, untouched.

Beautiful and deadly, clothed in triumph, her smile was only growing wider while he raged against her.

"You knew that fighting against his own knights on open ground, he'd be vulnerable. And you! You knew this would happen. You planned this all along."

"You give me too much credit. I certainly couldn't have manipulated Uther's son so well." There was a flash of cruel eyes, as if he were a trifling bug and she about to pull him into a thousand pieces before destroying him utterly. She leaned forward, looking him up and down, her red mouth curved cold.

"Oh, little Merlin. So frantic to save your Arthur that you'd spin such lies. I hope your loyalty was _well_ rewarded."

Beyond fury, beyond reason, he lurched forward, hands up, wanting to shut her up for spreading such lies about him when Brene pulled him back. "Emrys!"

"She has no right to say such things." Yelling at Nimueh, shivering with fury, he tried to jerk away but Brene held fast, trapping his arm tight in her grip. The wound flared hot and raw but it was nothing to the pain aching, arcing through his chest at the accusation.

"Emrys, enough." Another sharp rebuke from Brene.

"Arthur didn't start this. He wasn't there when it all went to hell." For a moment, he struggled to get free and then abruptly, he deflated, curling in, wondering what else he could have done to stop her lies before it was too late. And wondered if it was always too late, even before he'd left for Camelot those long years ago.

Shaking her head, smirking at his pain, Nimueh said, "Of course he was there. In the thick of things. He and Medraut, that little toady of his, having a glorious time slicing through our friends like meat."

Talisen flinched back and there were murmurs of protest. Dryes was ashen, looking as ill as he'd ever seen her. Even Brene gave a little gasp, loosening her grip on Merlin's arm as she started to object. But Nimueh ignored them all, instead raising her arms wide, inviting them to join with her. Her voice reverberated through the council room, passionate and so slick-sure of victory.

"Now, now is the time to strike. While Pendragon is still weak and vulnerable to attack. We have this chance to stop him once and for all. A chance to bring Camelot to its knees. We'd be fools to ignore it."

Merlin had seen this sort of thing before. Arthur had given stirring speeches, quite effectively, too, getting those around him to do what at first seemed to be impossible, battling the odds with little more than his own abilities and a belief in what he was doing. But then Arthur had used words, not as a weapon but to motivate others into action for the defence of Camelot. Not for revenge and certainly not for conquest.

Dryes must have realized what Nimueh was doing. "We've already decided to try for peace between our peoples. One last time. No matter whether Emrys is lying, no matter if what you tell us is true or not, we have to try."

"Ah, my dear friend, still the same. Will you ever wake up to reality? We are more than they, Dryes, and yet we let them kill our kind with little more than a whimper of protest." A fleeting gaze of weighing and judgement as Nimueh's face turned sour. "We must seize this opportunity and bring Pendragon down before it will be too late for us all."

Dryes just shook her head, looking ready to argue again when from behind Merlin, Gaius said mildly, "A stirring speech, my lady. Most effective."

Relief that his old mentor had arrived at last, Merlin turned around, taking a hurried step back toward him. "Gaius, she…."

He tried to ignore the fact that Nimueh was talking fast and furiously with some of the others, pale hands gesturing in a wild show of satisfaction as she made a point here, a movement there, her red mouth already wet with victory, her eyes cold as winter's ice. At least Dryes was beside her, arguing for peace.

"Merlin, not now." Putting up one hand to silence him, Gaius sent him a sharp look, not one of raised eyebrows and disapproval but reminding him of times when he'd acted the fool and needed to be rescued yet again.

Merlin opened his mouth to protest but when Gaius's eyes narrowed into a withering glare, he stopped. Still impatient, though, still anxious that Nimueh might be able to sway them back into war, he was honest enough to realize that the old physician might be more effective than he in ending this. A single nod and he was silent, waiting, waiting for the right moment. He only hoped it would be soon. Arthur would only wait so long.

Gaius turned back towards the others, bowing slightly as he said, "My lady Nimueh, Talisen, members of the council, my apologies for my late arrival. One of my patients needed tending."

It was only then that Merlin realized Gaius's robes were splattered with blood, soaked in red and drying brown, already stiffening. The old man must have rushed there straight from his surgery; he'd obviously not had time to change.

Talisen was still pale, hunched inward but he straightened as he asked, "Are Leodrun and Eges going to live?" It was obvious he was prepared for bad news, even expecting it. Merlin couldn't help but notice the deadness in his eyes. A light there had gone out, probably never to return. It was well known that he'd loved his wife very much.

Gaius bowed his head, his mouth pursed and he hesitated a moment. "Eges will live… but Leodrun may not. The bolt was deep and difficult to remove. I've treated the wound but he lost a lot of blood."

Talisen only nodded and looked away. But Nimueh said, "Another reason to find Pendragon and destroy him while we still can." There was a clot of argument, heavy and brusque, several muttering fiercely among themselves.

Gaius ignored the collection of arguments, ignored the political entanglements and the blinding hatred and the grief. Instead looking pointedly at Nimueh, he said, "Another reason to make peace with King Arthur before more die in your cause, my lady."

"Gaius, ever the schemer." She gave a little laugh, condescending and cold. "Or should I say, Gaius the traitor. It's a wonder you are still alive, working for Uther Pendragon all those years."

Merlin was already shaking with anger, worried about Arthur, counting the minutes since he'd promised to return, knowing that the continuing bombardment of Camelot's forces could be the final act that swept them all into war. And now this.

It was one thing to accuse Merlin of being a traitor; he'd expected her sly insinuations and her bold-faced lies. But to say it of Gaius was almost more than he could bear. If he thought his old friend wouldn't throttle him for interfering, Merlin would have jumped in, defending him against her accusations.

Of course, Gaius knew him better than he thought. He sent Merlin another harsh look, a dire warning clear in the narrowed eyes and sharp scowl, before turning to Nimueh. "Camelot was the perfect place to protect the innocent. I helped them escape when I could."

Her face flushed with fury, her hands curling into fists, for a moment, Merlin thought she was going to attack Gaius. Instead she said flatly, "My family was not so fortunate."

"I grieve for every one I could not save, Nimueh." Regret was heavy in the slump of Gaius's shoulders and the bow of his head and memories seemed to crowd him. He frowned down at the stones beneath his feet. "Uther Pendragon was willing to kill anyone who even had the vaguest hint of magical talent and smart enough to find out where they might hide."

Then as Gaius looked up again, he straightened, held her gaze with his own. "But Arthur is not his father. He will listen and I believe he will accept a peace accord between our peoples if given the chance."

"He's had his chance. He slaughtered our kind, him and his butcher. Now it's his turn." She twisted away, rude and dismissive, as if his opinions had no merit, as if he were an annoyance that would soon be gone. Merlin caught a flash of smirking triumph before she smoothed her face back into disdain.

Gaius took it all in stride, ignoring her contempt. "His butcher? And who would that be?"

"Merdaut." She flicked her fingertips away, seemingly unconcerned, but Merlin could see the slightest hesitation as she looked toward Gaius and then away again. "I hear he's dead and good riddance. Filthy swine."

Merlin couldn't let it pass. Desperate, hoping that at least Gaius would listen, he said sharply, "She's lying. She's making it sound like she didn't know him but she did. She was using him to lure Arthur here into her trap."

A light feminine laugh. "Oh, Emrys. You would spread any rumour, tell any lie to save your beloved Arthur. It would be endearing really if…," Nimueh made it sound infuriatingly trivial, as though he'd been a small child caught eating sweets before dinner or a misbehaving puppy and then her voice hardened, cruel and sharp. "If it weren't so disloyal to those of us who are fighting for our very lives."

She was baiting him, he knew, but it was too much. Furious, he snarled, "You... I won't stand by and let you..."

While Merlin gestured frantically, trying to get them to listen, Gaius moved over next to him, put a hand on his arm, thankfully the unwounded one, and squeezed - hard. Stunned, pain shooting up his arm, he glanced down into the frown cutting across Gaius's face and surprised, twisted back, pulling out of his grasp.

"Merlin, enough!" With the sharp rebuke echoing in the chamber, Gaius turned to Nimueh. "My apologies, my lady. I thought I'd taught Emrys better manners but I see he still has much to learn."

The world must have gone mad. He'd have never believed Gaius would side with Nimueh. He still couldn't believe it.

Her curt acknowledgment and the growing smirk were almost more than he could bear; the continual sharp frown on Gaius's face, warning him to remain silent, just bewildered him.

Before he could say anything else, Gaius cut him off. "Merlin, you have said more than enough. Be quiet and listen for once in your life." Merlin jerked back, feeling more and more as if he'd been stabbed, as if his old friend had driven a dagger into his gut and twisted the knife. He was too astonished, too pained to reply.

In the silence, Gaius gave him another hard stare and then his face softened as he nodded toward the witch. "Nimueh, I am curious how you know of Merdaut. His name was not spoken among us before today."

"I don't remember." Shrugging, she brushed aside his question."Wasn't Emrys yelling some nonsense about him earlier? In the courtyard?"

Brene spoke up. "Yes, but how would you know that? You weren't in the courtyard." She was frowning, looking puzzled. "And we didn't know Medraut's name before Emrys told us about him."

"Some other time, perhaps. Or someone could have mentioned him in passing." Eyes narrowed, she was obviously annoyed at the continual questioning. "What does it matter? He's dead. Just one less piece of refuse to deal with."

But Merlin knew it was more than that. She's used Medraut, used them all and he refused to be cowed into silence again, no matter what Gaius or any of the others might think.

Merlin stepped forward, out beyond Gaius's reach, stared down at her for a moment. A flare of pain across his chest but he ignored it. Instead, intent, furious, he snarled out, "But you already knew his name, didn't you, Nimueh? In the woods, just before Arthur arrived, you told me. You said Medraut would draw Arthur here, into your trap, that Merdaut would come to the Isle first and Arthur would have to follow and he did. He did. It worked perfectly and now they listen to you and believe you and I can't…."

There was sound around him, growing arguments among the sorcerers, gestures and astonishment. The effort to make them see, make Gaius see, pushed him to near-shouting.

"But it was you all along. Luring Merdaut here. Letting him know where we were." Gaius was pulling at him, trying to make him stop, or slow down or some other such nonsense but he refused. He'd had enough of silence. "Damn it, listen to me. She's using all of us to destroy, to destroy Arthur and for what? Vengeance against Uther Pendragon."

His chest seizing, for a moment he couldn't breathe and as he stood there, hunched over, panting, Nimueh just smiled, smooth as crème. "Emrys is lying to save his own skin. We all know that he told them the Isle's location."

Sending a glare toward her, he choked out, "I'm not lying and I didn't tell them. I wouldn't."

"How do you know it was Merlin? There is no proof." Dryes had been focused on Nimueh, looking unhappy when the arguments turned bitter and then concerned as if something had just occurred to her and she didn't like it.

"There is no proof in his accusations toward me." Nimueh stood there, head held high, the very picture of injured innocence. "He is just a pathetic pawn under Camelot's control, using every trick to get us to do what Pendragon wants, to put our necks on the block and let the axe fall."

A soft clearing of his throat and Gaius moved closer to the witch, saying, "Very moving, very effective. You've always been one to sway others to your cause."

He sent a hard fleeting glare back towards Merlin as if to make sure he'd not interrupt again and then turning away, he folded his hands before him, like he used to do around Uther whenever he wanted something. Strange behaviour and he was looking oddly at Nimueh, too. If Merlin hadn't known better, he'd have said that Gaius was on the hunt for answers or perhaps more that he already knew the answers but was waiting for confirmation.

"I wonder, though, aside from the question of Medraut, how you and Merlin could have such divergent views on the king's arrival. It would seem simple enough. Either Arthur Pendragon led the troops here at the same time as Medraut or he did not."

Gazing at Gaius as if he were a simpleton, she said sharply, "Of course, Pendragon was there from the start." A huff of air, scathing, bitter. "Uther's whelp? He'd never miss a chance to slaughter our kind or haven't you been paying attention all these years?"

Gaius ignored the implied insult. Instead he looked around at the others staring at him and then back at her. His face hardened into stone. "I've talked with those who fought with you, my lady. And they tell a very different tale from yours."

Oh.

Suddenly it was blindingly clear. He'd been an idiot. Gaius wasn't siding with Nimueh, wasn't throwing Merlin to the dogs, wasn't trying to destroy any chance for peace with Uther's son. He was trying to trap her. He was using logic and her own words to get to the truth and she knew it.

A little shake of her head, her hand fluttering to her mouth as though she were shocked by such accusations. Feigned innocence in the way she jerked back. "That's absurd. They are mistaken."

"Indeed, they are quite sure." Gaius cocked his head to one side, mouth pursed in distaste. "According to them, the king came later, after the fighting had already started, just as Merlin said."

Eyes narrowed into slits, her voice cutting as sharpened steel, she was already on the attack. "Then they are lying."

"All of them? For something so trivial as that? I think not." Gaius's eyes turned stone hard. "You've lied about the time of Arthur's arrival. It appears that you may have lied about how you knew Medraut's identity. Trivial things but I have to wonder why."

Whatever conversations had been growing sharp with each new accusation, the noise of argument and confusion and doubt ringing in the hall, now there was silence. All eyes were on Nimueh.

She gave a huff of annoyance, the barest sense of worry etching into her skin, mounting unease in the way she looked around, as though she were counting friends and foes and finding the answer unacceptable. Sharp, pointed, contemptuous, she spat out, "You old fool. It doesn't matter. Pendragon is here and ripe for destruction. We can sort out your paranoid suspicions later, once we've eradicated that pestilence from the face of the earth."

"I think not. I think Merlin has it right." His eyes boring into her, looking as if he could see into her heart, Gaius said flatly, "You used him and you used Medraut, too, sending him the location of the Isle, knowing Arthur would follow. You knew that they would be vulnerable to attack once they reached our location. You put us in danger, a sacrifice to your lust for revenge."

Dryes was already whispering into Talisen's ear and Brene stood there, stunned, blinking astonishment. The others were hovering nearby, muttering, hands gesturing with more and more agitation, a low growl of furious sound.

Nimueh was good; Merlin would have to give her that. She didn't even flinch, instead drew back, head held high, the pure personification of innocence in the form of a pale indignant, righteous woman, seemingly beset by enemies on all sides but forever unbowed. "Don't be absurd. You can't prove any of this."

With a nod of his head, Gaius said, "No, Medraut is dead and I doubt you would leave a trail for us to follow." He turned toward Talisen and Dryes standing next to him. "We could ask the king of his motivations. A truce would clear up many things but there are still some among us who fear Arthur too much for that and they might not believe him in any case. There is a quicker way, however, and one less fraught with the opportunity for false witness."

Gaius flicked his gaze to Merlin and it would seem that he was unhappy about something. Even Merlin was growing worried, not just about Arthur and the continuing bombardment, the hope for truce slipping away with every stone that hit the far shore, but something else. Something he wasn't going to like.

He was right.

"Among us, the seers may cast into the mysteries and find out the truth, use the crystals to see past the lies and into the heart of things. We've been too blind, so focused on Uther's atrocities that we've forgotten that malevolence might live among us." Another glare at Nimueh. "We've had no reason to look – until now."

By all the gods, he didn't want to do this.

Some crystals were safe enough. Even Nimueh had one; with the proper spells, it could bring the user a glimpse of the present if nothing else, tantalizing scenes of far-off places and people going on about their lives. Useful enough, although often more confusing than illuminating. But other crystals were more powerful, pulling from the past, showing the potential of different futures and these were heavily guarded, used only by the Seers at the Isle. Without proper guidance and the ability to control their Sight, even magic users could lose themselves in the mysteries. Some had gone mad, others wasting away in dreams.

Merlin had tried only once, when he'd first come to the Isle and the council had tested his abilities. The crystals had sung to him, plunged into his blood, stained his mind until he was screaming with the possibilities. An infinity of change and stillness and the world in flames, hacked corpses, war without end or the peace of utter desolation, devoid of all life, friends gone, loved ones torn to pieces, screaming, screaming. He'd come out of it, shaking with memories of things past and things that might yet be. It had been a harrowing experience. He really did not want to do it again; with every fibre of his being, he did not.

Even Nimueh paled at the suggestion. "You can't be serious." She stepped back, hand at her throat, her voice almost shrill with worry. "Talisen, this is a mockery of everything we've fought for. I've devoted my whole life to magic and to even listen to a traitor like Emrys is beyond belief. But to use the crystals like that? They are for broad sweeps of the future, to see what paths to take, not to test the self-serving lies he's spread."

Brene spoke up. "Gaius has a point. With so much at stake, our seers should at least question Emrys about his role in Pendragon's attack on our stronghold." A helpless shrug. It was clear that she didn't like the idea either but it would seem there was really no other way. "He may have power but they would see clearly and the truth would only strengthen your position, Nimueh."

"Of course. I have nothing to hide." Lifting her chin, the witch gave another crème-smooth smile and gathering the red lines of her dress into her hands, she said contemptuously, "The crystals will show us the truth, that Emrys is a spy and a traitor and that Pendragon must be destroyed."

For a moment, Merlin couldn't believe that she would agree so easily. It had to be a trick but he saw no way out of it. But even if it would be enough to prove his innocence, it would still take too long; Arthur would think that he'd abandoned him or lied to escape. Even worse, the king might be injured or killed if the bombardment kept up much longer. He couldn't take that chance.

He turned to Talisen. "I will agree to this if you stop the bombardment first." The man opened his mouth to argue but Merlin just looked at him, set mouth and stubborn eyes daring him to say no. "If I prove to be a traitor, you can always resume it. But it can't go on any longer, not when there's a chance I'm telling the truth."

Talisen's eyes narrowed and he looked as if he wanted to throttle Merlin right then and there. But the sorcerer had always been a man of honour and so, clearly reluctant, he nodded once, "Agreed."

Merlin let out a deep sigh of relief. One barrier had been overcome and Arthur was safe at the moment. Now to finish the task and quickly. "I am ready."

* * *

The cave was deep underground, below the main hall of the fortress, and it was a long walk down, stairways and narrow paths, growing cool and cooler as they travelled. Seams of quartz and glittering stones, reds and greens and a pale yellow winking as they walked past, cold rock and water dripping, coating the walls in a damp shimmer. It could be beautiful in the torch light, catching flashes of colour set in a sea of dark granite.

But Merlin ignored the splendour of it all; he could only feel the draw of magic, the crystals singing to him in a thousand discordant tones, shivering possibilities into the cool air. It set his teeth on edge, drew muscles tight and it was difficult to breathe again. It had been so the first and only time he'd been there, when they'd tested to see if he had a Seer's gift. He'd not been able to control the visions then and returned to the surface, weakened by the experience. Only those able to wrestle the possibilities seen in the crystals were allowed down into the cave and only, as Nimueh had said, for broad sweeps of the future potentials.

Most of the council had stayed above, handling the defence of the Isle. True to his word, Talisen had stopped the bombardment but it was clear he was unhappy about it. It mattered little to Merlin, his unhappiness. At least Arthur had a chance to regroup and take care of his wounded and once Merlin was proved innocent, a truce was all but assured.

Brene's apprentice, Ceren, the girl who had tried to stop him from escaping earlier, had Seer strength, was adept in looking into the crystals and finding truth there. So it was she who was accompanying them to the cave to ascertain the truth. Merlin was concerned that she might push things in Nimueh's favour but with Brene, Talisen and Dryes there as well as Gaius, he was certain they would be careful enough. He didn't believe Ceren to be Nimueh's follower but a friend, perhaps. Of concern but not alarm. And Gaius was there to make sure nothing went amiss.

It was taking altogether too long but at last they reached the entrance into the cave. Beyond the carved lintel, Merlin could see the walls covered in crystals, large, small, gleaming white in the torchlight, the floor littered with shattered remnants and smaller stones. In the centre was a huge quartz shaft, the largest he'd ever seen, tall as a man and almost as thick, the focus of power. Light seemed to flicker in its depths, calling him, calling him, and there were shadows hovering within and shifting glints of colour that hurt his eyes. He retreated a step, the breath of long-dead spirits and haunted futures shivering down his back.

Ceren had been quiet until now, centring herself, preparing herself to delve into the mysteries. She narrowed her eyes at Merlin, obviously measuring him against what she thought she knew and finding him utterly flawed. Finally, she turned toward others. "What do you seek?"

Clearing his throat, Talisen said, "We want the truth. Did Nimueh conspire with Medraut to bring down Pendragon? Did she seek to trap the king here? Or is Emrys lying about his part in all this?"

Nodding, she lifted her hands toward the group, looking at first Merlin and then Nimueh. "Are you prepared to answer for what I find here?"

Merlin nodded sharply, wanting this to be over, feeling time slipping away and ever edgy about what he was going to have to endure. Nimueh just smiled, secret-satisfaction playing across her face and stepped back, gesturing for Merlin to go first.

It troubled him that she was so certain but he nodded once, and reluctantly walked past the entrance, into the cave itself. Ceren was hard on his heels, and as he turned toward her, she reached down and grabbed one of his hands in her own. "Are you ready, Emrys?"

When he nodded again, she said, "Then quiet your mind and touch the crystal."

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore all the worries and hopes and dreams, emptying himself of all but the need for truth. Then as she lifted her hand to press against the glossy-smooth surface, she began to chant. " _Aeíe ús sóþ, mihte neowolnesse. Aetíe ús ærdæde Emrys_."

Another deep breath, fighting the need to cough and he reached out, touched the crystal.

Reality wiped out between one heartbeat and the next. Pain, grief, desolation.

His mind was caught in a whirlwind of memories: Arthur trying to kill him, Will dying, the smell of witches burning in the square, accusations and hatred and beyond it, trees bursting into flame and Nimueh laughing, the arrival of the king and Merdaut screaming, screaming for his blood, coughing out his life under Lysan's hand. More flame, the slice of iron against his skin, fire blistering flesh and the agony of men dying, dying. And all the time, Nimueh's face, triumphant, laughing as she told him of her plans, what she had done. Gods below, it hurt.

It seemed an eternity of sorrow before he came back into himself, kneeling on the floor of the cave, shards cutting into his skin, trying to catch his breath, slow his heart. Letting out another cough, pain stabbing at his chest, he could barely understand what was going on outside the portal.

"I am so sorry." Ceren helped him up, all contrition. She's seen it, too, what he'd felt in the crystal. "I thought you were lying."

But he hardly heard her because there was shouting and Gaius's worried face came into view. "She's gone."

Merlin didn't need to know who they meant. Nimueh had escaped. And there was only one place she'd go.

To Arthur.

Swaying from near exhaustion, feeling as if he'd been beaten and bloodied, still he couldn't let her win, not this time. He stumbled out of the cave, shards clattering in his wake, and began running up the pathway as fast as he could. But even as he climbed, he knew he'd be too late. Coughing, pain arcing across his face and down into his chest and he was furious with his own weakness but he had to stop to catch his breath. The others were right behind him, crowding him on the stairs, Talisen furious, shouting, "I'll take care of her."

"No!" Shaking his head, Merlin drew himself up. "She's gone after Arthur. If you go, he'll just think it's another attack. I have to be the one."

Gaius looked worried, "Merlin…."

"No, Gaius, I have to go. Don't try and talk me out of it." He was already drawing in power, gathering it close, beginning to pull in that wild magic from deep beneath the earth, from the air and water, from the life all around him.

He didn't have time to hear what the old man said, only saw him mouthing something, frowning and wild-eyed as Merlin began to chant. " _Astýre mé to Artos!"_

As the power took him, blurring time and reality, the wild wind whipping, curving, howling currents into a vast cyclone of dust and air, his only thought was of Nimueh and what he'd do to her if he wasn't in time to save Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Aeíe ús sóþ, mihte neowolnesse. Aetíe ús ærdæde Emrys." = Show us the truth, gods of the depths. Show us Emrys's former deeds.
> 
> "Astýre mé to Artos!"= Take me to Arthur.


	13. Chapter 13

The air was clotted with ash. Already collapsed into dead limbs and black smoke, the trees stood there, still-warm sentries to the devastation hatred had wrought. Small flashes of light, flame smouldered low, huddled among the rocks and the cinders, evidence of a massive conflagration that had burned itself out in the last few minutes. The smell still lingered, wood consumed to nothing, a scent of scorched pine and dead leaves, of steam and cooked meat catching at his throat.

Merlin was still weak from the visions, his chest hurting more and more. There must have been bruising or perhaps a rib was broken but he couldn't think about that now. Nimueh was there somewhere, looking for Arthur. That had to be his first priority. Anything else would have to wait.

He'd landed on the shore side of the ridge, not far from where he'd last seen Arthur but there was no sign of him now nor of any of the injured knights. Off to the left, bones and fire-scorched armour told him that the Camelot forces hadn't had time to remove all of the bodies before the flames overwhelmed them; they'd likely have retreated in the face of such destruction. In any case, he doubted that they would have done anything about the sorcerers' remains, even if they had had time.

So much waste. So many lives torn apart by greed and grief and the mad cravings of power. So many. He still could not understand how it had come to this, that Nimueh would be willing to sacrifice everything to gain command and for what? To rule Camelot? To make others into puppets? Or was she so afraid of losing anyone else that she'd try to control everything?

Madness indeed.

Shaking his head to clear it, he hurried toward the ridge, listening for footsteps or arguments or pain-torn shouts. Nimueh had had a head start and he didn't believe for a second that she'd wait before she'd try and kill Arthur.

A crunch of burnt wood under his feet and the slap of leather against stone, another crack as a tree limb tumbled down. Ignoring the burns on his hands and his cheek pulling pain across his face, the ache that breathing brought to his chest, he scurried up the rock that separated the blackened desolation of the shoreline from greener things just beyond the rise. He tried to be as quiet as he could. He didn't want to alert Nimueh of his arrival.

As he tumbled over the stones, reaching the top of the ridge, in the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of disagreement, rapid and heated, and steel against wood. There, off to the left, he could see the place where the Camelot troops were camped, a stony clearing easy to defend and protected from the fires by large swaths of rock. They seemed to be hurrying around but not acting as if anything were amiss. Rather they looked busy setting up defences and taking care of the wounded.

Arthur was nowhere in sight.

Damn fool. He'd bet his last farthing that Arthur was out doing something heroic and leaving himself wide open to attack. Merlin had told him to be careful, not to go acting like he was invincible – because he wasn't.

Now, there was nothing to do but try to find the king and hope Nimueh hadn't found him first.

Scrambling down the other side of the ridge, focused on the encampment, carefully protecting his still-aching chest but hurrying as best he could, he almost missed it. A rift in the rock, a small space with high walls, smoky and hidden and beyond he could hear the echo of Nimueh's voice, mocking and so very sure of herself.

"Such a pathetic fool. Hardly worthy of your father."

Heart in his throat, he realized that he was already too late. She must have found Arthur and from the way she was talking to him, it sounded like they were alone. The king was in danger and it would appear that no one else knew or else the ones guarding him were injured or dead.

For a moment, he didn't know what to do. The camp was too far away and even if he shouted to get their attention, he doubted the knights would get there in time. Worse, Nimueh would hear. He was much closer and he'd need to take every advantage to keep Arthur safe.

He really had no choice. He'd have to take on Nimueh himself.

Decision made, he walked slowly, carefully toward the conversation, trying not to make any noise. Just beyond the fissure, sound echoing off the walls, he could hear Arthur snarling back, "You leave my father out of this, witch."

As the gap in the rock widened, Merlin strained forward, cautious enough to try and keep from being discovered while attempting to see what Nimueh was doing. Another step and there was Arthur half-turned toward him, smoke tarnishing his chainmail and smears of dirt on his face, frowning at someone just out of sight. Behind the king, one knight lay unmoving, he couldn't see who it was but beyond that, nearly hidden, a boot and brown-clad leg indicated that at least one other had died - likely defending their king.

"I could hardly leave Uther out of it. Your father began this war, murdering innocents, murdering children and old women and anyone with the slightest hint of magic, leaving nothing but bones and memories." Nimueh's voice was smouldering with furious contempt, with grief-edged cruelty.

"It was you and your kind who started it. It was you and your magic that killed my mother." Arthur brought up his sword, angled ready for attack. His face flushed with rage, he seemed to be on the ragged edge of control. "He only did what he could to stop you from killing anyone else."

"Is that what he told you? Oh, little Pendragon, how many lies he wove to keep you under his control."

A light laugh, delighted and condescending, almost inviting him to strike. She was goading him and it seemed to be working.

Arthur twisted slowly left, sword in his hand following some movement that Merlin could not see. Furious, focused and battle alert as if he were prepared for an attack at any moment, he also looked exhausted. The sword point was wavering, evidence of how effective Nimueh's barbed truth was digging into Arthur, wounding him with words.

"Did your precious father tell you about how he came to me and begged me for a son, how he said he would do anything to achieve it?"

She wouldn't stop. She must have seen how it was affecting Arthur. Merlin could only remember how the king reacted when he had told him of Ygraine's death, the fury and disbelief in Arthur's eyes. Now, how it must have hurt to hear it again from someone who had been there from the beginning, who would know and might actually be telling the truth about it all. Or lying about everything.

"It would seem that Uther thought sacrificing your mother was a small price to pay to get himself a son, even if all he got was you." Lightly said, almost off-handed as if it no longer mattered, still she chose to try and hurt Arthur in ways unseen but not unfelt. Punishing him for his father's choices.

Arthur flinched back, his face paling as the words sunk in. "You are lying. He would never do that."

Another laugh, deeper, more chilling. "No, I may have lied about many things but not this, not about Ygraine's death. She didn't deserve to...," As she hesitated, if Merlin didn't know better, he'd have sworn that he could hear guilt in her voice. But then Nimueh seemed to shake it off, said flatly, "No matter. You won't live long enough to regret his choice."

She must have done something, made some movement because the king straightened, looking every inch a proud warrior waiting for unavoidable death.

Merlin could feel the gathering of power; the shiver across his skin spoke of darkness, of oblivion waiting, waiting. He knew he couldn't hide any longer. As he hurried toward the king, there was a flutter of red and just beyond the rock face, one white hand lifting palm up in a complicated pattern.

Arthur must have seen him because focused as he was on Nimueh, he still managed to turn slightly and his eyes widened in surprise.

It would seem that he'd not expected Merlin to arrive in time.

As Merlin turned the corner, skidding into the gorge, he could see sparks in the air, growing into a ball of flame, a hovering just beyond Nimueh's hand. The firelight bounced off the stone walls. There was the smell of sulphur and ash in the air. She was up to her old tricks again. Arthur would have had no defence but Merlin wasn't about to let him die, not now, not when they've finally begun to trust again.

Nimueh jerked back, scowling at the interruption, but she recovered quickly. Smiling at him as if they were old friends, she said false-sweet, "Come to join us, Emrys?"

He ignored her, and with a flare of pain skittering down his back and into his chest as he lurched forward, he threw himself in front of Arthur, barely missing the sword point in his haste. Standing there, his body blocked her path to the king. He didn't need to look to know there was a scowl on Arthur's face. Brave, foolishly so at times, Merlin knew the man wouldn't let him act as a shield but Arthur had little idea how to combat Nimueh and Merlin did, all too well.

"Arthur, stay behind me."

He tried to sound commanding and very sure, forceful enough that Arthur would listen to him for a change. There was a sharp protest but he ignored it. He wasn't going to move, not without a fight. He just hoped that the king would finally realise that he couldn't win here, not against magic.

"That won't save him." She was still playing with the fireball, letting it roll across her fingers back and forth and Merlin could feel the malevolence collected there. Her eyes flicked to Arthur and then a smile grew, slick-red and corrupt. "Emrys, we could have been great together, you and I. Instead you defend this fool."

Fury tearing into his throat, chest flaring in pain as he moved too abruptly toward her, agony curled around and through him. "We were never _anything_ together."

A spasm across his skin, down his throat and he tried not to cough; his breathing was a torment. Something was wrong but he didn't have time for it, didn't dare show how much pain he was in. A struggle not to curl inward but somehow he managed. She would see weakness as advantage and use it to destroy them and Merlin refused to give in.

But it wasn't enough.

Smile growing wider as her too-sharp eyes took in his sweating face and the hitch in his voice, Nimueh sauntered slowly right, hand still full of fire, the light dancing on her palm and then with a flick of her fingertips, the flame vanished, a thin trail of smoke disappearing into the air.

"No, never together but he…," her eyes flicked to Arthur as she said, "he didn't know that. He believed everything I said about you. So quick to believe all the lies. So easily misled, your Arthur. The High King of Camelot."

There was a little sound behind him, an intake of breath that spoke of shock but Merlin ignored it. He didn't have time to explain or argue or anything else, not with the witch, dangerous, manipulative, deadly Nimueh in front of him using the past to throw them off-balance. Waiting for the right moment to strike.

"That was a long time ago."

In him, there was knife-deep grief, memories of a blade slicing the air and Arthur killer-furious. One of the worst days of his life. Nimueh was always one who knew how to wound and she knew him, knew how much that day had shattered him. The loss that hurt him, still hurt as much as the pain in his chest did now.

Derision in the curve of her mouth and amusement in her face, as Merlin flinched back, she nodded toward Arthur.

"He listened to a stranger when someone he'd known and trusted, someone who'd sacrificed everything for him was tossed aside like rubbish. And how did that make you feel, _Merlin_? To be thrown away like that."

"It doesn't matter. He did what he thought was right."

It did matter, still did and he wanted to turn around and see whether Arthur was looking at him with hatred or shame or even acceptance of the wrong he'd done but Merlin didn't dare, not with Nimueh watching him so closely.

"Merlin, is what she saying true?" Arthur's voice was smaller somehow, almost hesitant. As though he were finally realizing just how wrong he'd been and his world was shaking apart with the knowledge.

"Yes, but it doesn't matter right now. She's only using it to throw us both off-balance."

While they were talking, Nimueh had turned slightly, had taken another step, skimming the edge of the clearing, the rock face soaring behind her. It was clear that she was trying to manoeuvre past Merlin to get to Arthur. But he just followed her movements, waiting and wary, and finally, with a little shrug, she stopped trying.

Her eyes glanced back to Arthur's and she must have relished what she saw there. Her smile turned savage. "But oh how it must have hurt, to have him think such things. That your prince would actually believe you'd ever betray him." Her voice mocking them as she watched their faces, her eyes full of malice. "You who protected him. Over and over again and never a word of thanks, never anything but insults and degradation. You who loved Arthur more than your own life."

"Merlin?" Stronger, more urgent, sounding as if Arthur was past shock and now plotting retribution. The problem was that the king's voice was coming from the right; he had shifted position, away from Merlin's protective reach.

Brave fool. He'd likely get himself killed if Merlin wasn't there to watch him every second. This wasn't a clean fight with sword and sinew alone and Arthur should know that.

Merlin said sharply, "Stay behind me, you idiot. I can't protect you if you insist on facing her."

There was a rough hiss of protest from Arthur."I'm the one who is supposed to be protecting you."

The prat obviously didn't listen well - not that anything had changed in the last four years. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin could see the tip of Arthur's sword and that meant that he was no longer behind him. He didn't dare turn around and make the idiot retreat. All he could do was point out the obvious and hope Arthur would listen to reason.

"You can't protect me this time. Stay back."

"It matters little. Pendragon will die in the end and there is nothing you can do about it, young fool."

She sent a contemptuous look toward the king and then her gaze flicked back to Merlin. She seemed utterly sure, seemed to be already looking past the _inconvenience_ of this confrontation, her twisted mind plotting her next move as she stood there, daring them to attack.

Furious, Merlin snapped back, "But not at your hand."

It was a reminder of what she'd once told Arthur, that she would not be the one to kill him. And yet here she was, threatening to do just that. Lies upon lies and nothing she had ever said could be believed.

"We shall see." She shrugged, fluttering those pale fingers in the smoky air, a show of innocence and virtuous intent. Pure manipulation, the corruption of truth caught between her hands.

Then as he stared daggers at her, she dropped the pretence; she nodded toward Arthur. "Or… perhaps I should take his mind instead, turn him into a puppet. Trap him inside a useless body under your control. Have him tremble at your feet. It would be a fitting punishment for destroying your life, don't you think?" Her voice turned sultry, her smile whore-corrupt. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Emrys? Him writhing helplessly under your hand?"

For one horrified moment, Merlin thought that maybe she'd found out about all the confusion and want and desperate hopes that had crumbled to ash four years ago. He'd buried his feelings for Arthur deep, piled under duty and lost dreams and he'd tried, so hard, to move beyond them. And yet here she was, pulling them out of the air for Arthur to see. For Arthur to hate him all over again.

"That will never happen." There was hatred there in Arthur's voice.

Merlin could hear it and it only made him more ashamed, more confused. Nimueh had destroyed his old life, destroyed his hopes, thrown him forever off-balance and he needed to get past it, had to get past it if he was going to save Arthur. No matter the cost, he would save Arthur if it was the last thing he ever did.

"And who is going to stop me? You?" A snicker, arrogant, and Nimueh turned to Merlin, dismissing Arthur with one contemptuous shrug of her shoulders. "Emrys can barely stand and you, young fool, have no power at all."

As Arthur stepped forward, Merlin could see him clearly, sword in his hand like some avenging Fury from ancient myth. It was the old Arthur, impetuous, foolhardy, throwing himself headlong into danger, thoroughly exasperating and yet his voice was steady and as sure as Merlin had ever heard.

"Then I will die trying."

Her gaze slid toward Arthur and she nodded, amused. "Yes, I'm sure you will."

Tilting her head, studying the king as if he were some kind of insect, less than useless and then she turned back to Merlin. "Unless Emrys decides to join me."

A deliberate step toward him, red cloth trailing like blood rippling against the dead leaves, white hands coming up again, she almost looked like she were pleading with Merlin for understanding – almost. Another manipulation, another lie.

"Think of it. Together we could rule the world, we could bring peace to Albion. All that power between us, you and I, far more than those fools on the Isle and for the taking." Her eyes glittering with power-lust, her voice husky with seduction. "And you can keep your Arthur. He'd make a fine pet, kneeling at your feet."

Furious that she'd ever think he'd want Arthur like that, unwilling, trapped, to be used as a plaything, Merlin snarled, "I'll never join you."

For a moment, Nimueh just stood there. And as his mind cooled into crystal clarity, Merlin realized that she'd been trying to weave her own kind of spell with the tone of her voice and the flutter of fingers, trying to seduce him into making the greatest mistake of his life. It made him dizzy to think she'd believe he'd fall for it.

Merlin straightened, ignoring the pain in his chest, the pressure just to breathe and the flare of wounds scurrying across his skin. Staring at her, focus firm and final, he said, "You've lost, Nimueh. All your lies, twisting everything in your path, all the people you've condemned and for what? The council knows what you are and they'll move against you. Talisen is…."

"So be it." Her face twisted into a sharp scowl, Nimueh stared at him, weighing him, judging him. Another nod, decisive, irrevocable. "What Uther started all those years ago, I will end."

Feeling the magic gathering again, dark and putrid, full of danger, he flung one hand out, shoving Arthur back as he stepped in front of him. His other hand was up, reaching out to counter her attack. But it was already too late.

" _Ábric_!"

And the world fractured behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

Exploding rock, boulders, fist-sized stones and dust peppered the air, rising up high and then down, down, down toward them. Death plummeting in a rush of crumbling cliff. In the distance, he could hear her laughing but it didn't matter. He was too busy trying to keep Arthur alive to retaliate.

Wild magic took over, instinctual, a shield that wavered then held, clear-bright in the dirty blast, keeping the largest rocks from crushing them.

But some things still got through. A sharp pain at his temple and a dozen hits pocked his skin, one opening again the wound on his face, sending agony across his cheek. Sweat and blood soured his mouth. Coughing from the dust and his chest spasming uncontrollably, he could hardly breathe.

Beside him, when he was finally able to shove aside the pain, he could see Arthur's face bloodied, his armour dented and he was staggering a bit. Not good.

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice was roaring sharp. Worry, confusion, rage in a single word.

Starting to turn, he could hear Nimueh chanting again, see her standing there power-mad and smirking satisfaction as she sent another wave of magic toward the cliff face. _"Ábríeteaþ cleofu!"_

There was a sickening crack and a wall of stones came down, faster, larger, more deadly. An avalanche and Merlin scrambled out of the way, pulling Arthur with him but he caught the tail end of it, rocks thudding against his back, against his legs. Pain blossomed in his chest, a sea of agony, bruises and if his ribs weren't broken before, he was sure they were now. There was a line of fire down one calf but he ignored it. He blinked back tears, tried to stifle a cry and Arthur was yelling at him.

Things began to grey, black tingeing the corners of his eyes but he shook it off. He knew if he failed now, they would both die and he'd be damned before he'd let that happen.

A trickle of something slid down his face and he swiped at it, his hand coming away bloody. A moment to look at it, stunned and unbelieving and then movement caught his eye. Arthur stalking forward, swinging his sword like a crazed man. The idiot. Taking on Nimueh by himself and Merlin knew he'd only get killed in the process. Nimueh knew it, too.

Amused, toying with them both, she just backed up, all the while gesturing Arthur to attack, leading him into a trap.

But Merlin couldn't allow that to happen. Gathering power, funnelling the pain into a place he'd ignore for now and pay the price later, using his body as a vessel, he shoved magic outward. The boulders were rising, hovering just out of reach and then he thrust the rough stones toward her, shouted words of power. _"Bregdan snyringas!"_

She must have realized what he was about to do. _"Onswífaþ!_ " Hand flung up, she pushed the rocks up and over, let them explode onto the cliff face behind her.

As the dust parted around her, her hair wild about her face, she seemed almost eager to play.

But as Nimueh turned toward Merlin, getting ready for another onslaught, there was a flash of metal streaking toward her. She ducked, suddenly furious, as the knife embedded itself in the cliff wall. Arthur had tried to kill her while her focus was on Merlin.

She wouldn't let it pass. Shoving her hand forward, Arthur was flying high into the air, tumbling head over heel, armour clanging against the wreckage of rock and dust and falling back toward the bodies of his dead knights. Unmoving as the corpses around him, one arm flung out still holding his sword.

"Arthur!" Merlin was shrieking his name, started to turn but Nimueh was there again.

A sudden blossom of fire gathered in her hand and she flung it toward him. Agony flaring in his chest as he jerked out of the way, he barely managed to avoid the fireball as it tumbled past. It blasted against the rock face, sending sparks and half-molten rock outward; above, a lone bush, perched on the edge of the cliff, burst into flame.

Merlin twisted around, began to stagger left, away from Arthur's still unmoving body. If he was alive, he gave no sign. Merlin didn't want to think about what that meant but he wasn't willing to have the king buried under shattered stone in a battle with Nimueh. He needed to draw her attention, away from Arthur.

"Nimueh, stop this. You know you can't win." It took all his strength not to look in Arthur's direction.

"Oh, Emrys, how foolish you are. This isn't about winning… but losing." She glanced down past him, taking in the way the king sprawled and the desperation that must have shown on Merlin's face. It would appear that she was far too aware of just where his loyalties lay. Her eyes glittered in satisfaction as she said, "The loss of Arthur Pendragon."

Swallowing against the fury rising in his throat, he snarled, "I'll never let that happen."

"Look at you. Barely able to stand and yet still you utter your empty threats." Fire was forming again in her hands and she glanced down at it, smirking. "So brave, so foolish."

Throwing the flames up into the air, she shouted, _"Wælfýr, tóbræde!"_

And impossibly, the deadly fireballs began to split apart, becoming two then ten, then a hundred. The cliffs surrounding them were ablaze with light, the smell of sulphur and ash and death overwhelming in the heat. Air full of sound, raging fires and her laughter echoing on the stone. Merlin's stunned denial.

"No!"

As he watched helplessly, frozen in shock, they began to speed toward him. An impossible wall of flame.

For a split second, Merlin couldn't remember what to do and then instinct took over. Magic, as fierce and untamed as he'd ever known, pulling from the earth and the sky and his own desperate longings, he threw up a barricade of rock around Arthur, protecting him.

It held against the onslaught.

Merlin huddled behind it but he'd focused so much on protecting Arthur, he'd not realized that the barrier wasn't enough for them both. As the fireballs stuck, those not destroyed on impact flowed past, rolling around the edges and up the cliff face. But one errant blaze got past his defences, striking him on the shoulder.

Skin sizzling with unimaginable pain, tunic smouldering, Merlin fell to his knees. His hands spread wide on the ground kept him from sprawling on the ground and into unconsciousness. A breath, impossible to take but he took it anyway. He didn't dare let go. Couldn't let go.

He was in so much pain there were no words but he refused to let the barrier fall. He refused and somehow his magic answered and it held.

Darkness barely kept at bay, his energy depleted, as the fireballs finally sputtered out, the wall of rock Merlin had created to protect Arthur fell back to earth. Stones rolled away, scattering dust and ash into the air. Above on the cliff face, the trees began to burn, thick smoke rising into the sky.

There was agony and black spots behind his eyes but still he could hear her picking her way slowly toward him, walking carefully past the scatter of stones and burnt leaves and black ash, stopping a few feet from his shaking hands, waiting.

Crouched there, trying and failing to find the power or magic or something else too instinctive to name, he looked around for a weapon, anything that would stop her this one last time. Out of reach, too far away, Arthur's sword lay in the king's slack grasp. It could have as well been across the world for all the good it would do him.

But Merlin refused to give up. Frantic, searching the ground for a knife or a sword, something, his fingers found what he was looking for, one of the dead knight's blades buried under the man's body.

It took a single fierce tug and the hilt moulded itself into his palm. The sword almost too heavy, the tip dragging in the dirt, but it would be enough. It would have to be.

He didn't know where he found the strength, didn't know how he could rise to meet her gaze, didn't know how he was keeping the darkness at bay as he stood. Swaying, beyond exhaustion, using the sword to push himself up with sheer will, he faced her.

"Pendragon isn't worthy of you, Emrys." She was shaking her head, looking at him with astonishment and not a little respect. "Not nearly worthy enough."

Then shrugging, dismissing him, her gaze turned skyward, hands reaching for the heavens. Black clouds began to gather, roiling heavy and thick. There was lightning and the growl of thunder growing closer with every heartbeat and Merlin wasn't sure if it was his own head pounding or the sky about to burst forth with devastation.

There was a moan in the wind.

Or was it something else? Merlin glanced over to where Arthur lay, until now unmoving but there was something, the tilt of a head or the way the king's hand was gripping his sword just beyond. Another sound, whispering, too low to hear clearly but Merlin could tell that Arthur was regaining consciousness. At long last, Merlin knew for certain that he had survived.

For a moment, his world was incandescent. His friend, his king, his Arthur was alive.

He must have made some sound, shown relief in the way he turned toward Arthur, using the sword to keep him from falling over, stumbling toward him. Nimueh's head turned sharply, frowning down at the prone figure of the king. "So Pendragon lives. For now."

Merlin froze, looking at Arthur struggling to rise, whispered desperately, "Stay down. Stay down, you idiot. I can't…."

There was another blast of sound, thunder coming closer and Nimueh was smiling again, satisfied. "His end comes, Emrys. And yours." And she began to chant, _"Stormas,onge **.** Líeg, tóbræde! Ábíete híe. Ábríeteaþ hie. Forþádilge hira feorhgiefa."_

But it didn't matter, not the storm coming their way or the fires burning brightly behind him or the danger that he might yet trip over his own feet and collapse, obliterate whatever strength he had left to defeat her. Merlin staggered toward Nimueh, brandishing the blade like some kind of crazed peasant wielding a sickle, all clumsiness and exhaustion.

He could feel the last of his strength giving out, pain blossoming across his skin like a thousand daggers turning him into meat. The smell of ash and burned flesh and the pine of trees aflame clogged his throat; an annoying trickle of blood or sweat or something else burned his cheek.

Nimueh ignored him, kept shouting into the wind. _"Stormas,onge **.** Líeg, tóbræde!"_

The smell of ozone in the air and there was a gathering of storm clouds; he could feel the dark magic pulling, pulling at him, death coming toward them. But he kept moving, one foot in front of another, sword impossibly heavy in his hand and he pushed it up, feeling the muscles in his arm screaming outrage. Lunged toward her and she looked surprised when cloth fluttered down, red across the dead leaves and then furious as she stumbled back.

She wasn't laughing any more.

He knew she'd not let him get close again, not close enough to kill, not with a blade. Knowing he had only moments, hoping to divert her attention, he flung the sword at her, using all of his will to keep it from tumbling into the dirt. His aim had never been sure; Arthur had despaired of him ever using a sword and it proved so now. Nimueh turned aside, the blade skidding past. But he'd planned on that and distracted, suddenly, he was on her, hands grabbing at her neck, his weight pushing her down into the muddy earth.

Rolling, scrambling to crush her throat under his hands, for an instant, it looked like he'd succeed.

But Nimueh was a wild animal, teeth and claws, hair untamed in the struggle. She tried for a moment to pull off his hands, his fingers squeezing her throat, throttling her, her eyes bulging in pain. And then she hissed, kicking upward, her hands punching at his shoulder and into his chest, waves of agony pouring into him as she scrambled back to her feet.

Nimueh stood over him, a dark Fury ready to tear him apart. Merlin looked up, watching her, ferocity and a longing to destroy him clear in her eyes. One hand wrapped around her bruised throat.

Haloed above her, the storm was swirling, blacks and greys and a profane green. Wind howling and there was a gathering of ozone and danger. Another sound, too, of Arthur staggering up, grunting as he gathered his strength. And with a final effort, he threw his sword toward the witch.

The sound of metal cutting the air, Nimueh jerked away, almost won against Arthur's aim but there was a sudden blossom of blood in her gut and his sword was buried there. She screamed, curling inward, looking down at the blade and then back up at Arthur. She must have known that she'd lost, only a few minutes of life remaining as she stumbled back, pulling out the blade, blood already darkening her red dress, but it would be enough time to destroy them both. Merlin knew that there would be no reprieve, if ever there had been a chance for one.

One last moment.

Merlin's magic began to soar again, instinct pulling energy from the earth under his back, the wind that howled danger, the smell of death, of burning and meat cooking, bright red soaking the dead leaves. Pulling the last of his strength from his own body, down to the very blood in his veins and the beat of his heart, and he funnelled it skyward toward the gathering black above their heads.

Bloodied sword in her hand, Nimueh shook her head, shuddered under the weight of his magic, staring down at him in wonderment or terror and then up towards the heavens as the flash of lightning hit the ground next to her. Too close to Arthur but still Merlin pulled it down, taking up her chant and making it his own.

 _"Líeg, tóbræde!"_ he whispered, _"Lieg, ábíete híe. Ábríeteaþ hie!"_

And it answered him. It answered in blood and death and Nimueh lighting up like a torch as the lightning bolts hit her again and again. Nimueh staggered back, jerked back, arms raised to fend off the attack but it was too late. With a great scream, she burst into a thousand fragments of bone and blood and flesh blackened into nightmare that rained down on them both.

There was another flash of lightning and impossible sound and then it began to rain.

But Merlin didn't notice, didn't even recognize what it was. He'd used the last of his magic to kill her, torn her apart and now he was also sinking into the earth, exhausted beyond anything he'd ever experienced, letting the cool water wash away his pain.

He wanted to sleep, perhaps forever but a rough hand was against his cheek and in one corner of his mind, he recognized the sounds of insults and Arthur begging him not to leave him, that he needed him to stay. That he wanted….

It wasn't enough. Falling, falling into darkness.

* * *

H woke by stages or at least he thought it was stages. In his mind, there was pain and a foggy confusion, hiding in the corners and crevasses and deep cracks, muddied, black and red and sometimes a golden shade, the colour of ripened wheat or sunshine. And there were smells: comfrey and honey, burnt pine and putrid flesh, ash clogging his throat and grief, too. Although he didn't think grief could smell but his mind was… not exactly aware. The black would sweep in, a thought broken in half and he'd never get to the end of it.

Sometimes he'd dream, of pain and fire, his body writhing at the flames swept over him, screaming until his voice was raw. Ghosts of things he'd done, Nimueh falling to bits, the sound of a sword cutting through flesh, and Arthur looking at him and walking away and it would grow and grow, the heat until he'd thought he'd die of it. A cool hand was all that kept him there, sword-roughened fingers soothing his face, the glint of golden hair and a sigh like sorrow.

And then he'd wake again, each time his mind a little clearer perhaps, although the smells didn't change or the grief.

It was confusing.

When he finally regained consciousness enough to be aware, this time more clear-headed than the last, a thousand questions pressed in and none that made any sense. For one thing, he wasn't even sure he was alive. He hadn't expected to be, not after… well, he hadn't expected it. But an afterlife wouldn't include pain clawing behind his eyes, or a bladder that needed emptying, would it? Then again, he'd never been dead before. Perhaps this was part of his punishment.

Or it could be that he'd survived after all.

Twisting around, he looked to see if he could figure out just where he was and maybe get some of those questions answered and a chamber pot, too. But he found out – very quickly - that twisting or doing anything but lying there wasn't a good idea. His head felt like it was about to explode, his chest, wrapped in bandages, was slowly edging into agony and it hurt to breathe.

He sank back down into the cot, groaning out the pain. It took a while, red agony seeping back into white ache and then a buzz of something behind his head, going muzzy again as he started to drift off. He was almost willing to think about the curious numbness on his cheek and he couldn't feel his shoulder at all but then again he was edging into sleep. His eyelids were so incredibly heavy and he wouldn't have to deal with pain or thinking or….

The next time he woke, there was movement just beyond the tent and he was blinking sleepily toward it. Behind him, out of his line of sight, someone was mumbling about poultices and idiot sorcerers and it sounded like Gaius. Which didn't make sense since Gaius should be at the Isle and not in a red tent.

A red tent. His mind still muzzy, it looked like he was in some kind of alcove, the hangings beside him drawn back slightly. Beyond there was a table, covered with parchments and books, and more cots lining the far wall. A banner, hanging near the doorway, large with the Pendragon crest stitched in gold. Fine linens covering him and a warm woven blanket, far softer than he'd ever owned.

A royal tent. Arthur's.

That jerked him out of the disconcerting haze that befuddled his mind. He needed to know what happened, whether Arthur had survived.

Croaking out sound, his mouth full of ash, he managed to say, "Ar…thur…."

Gaius's beloved face swam into view and he looked furious and as displeased as Merlin has ever seen him. There was suddenly a flask of cool water splashing against his mouth and Merlin licked at it, let some dribble in, focusing on swallowing and not on the daggers his old mentor was sending him.

"You are a complete idiot going off with injuries like that."

Gaius's frown deepened but instead of letting Merlin say anything else, he lifted the flask again, urging him to drink a little bit deeper this time. The old man was watching him, too, professional hands holding him up enough so that he wouldn't choke, but his mouth was crabbed with annoyance. It didn't look good.

When Merlin finally finished, he waved away the flask, leaned back into the pillows, took in a careful breath. He tried to send Gaius a smile, hoping to placate him, but it didn't work. The physician just stood there, scowling down at him.

Knowing it wouldn't do any good but feeling as though he needed to defend his actions anyway, he croaked out, "You know I had to."

A moment passed, two and Merlin was beginning to wonder if Gaius would ever talk to him again. Finally, the man let out a long, resigned sigh and his frown melted into concern. "I suppose you did. Not that I approve. Another could have gone in your stead." Reaching out, he pulled a stool over and sat down, hands clasped before him, still looking worried but at least Merlin thought Gaius looked like he might forgive him at some point. "How do you feel?"

"Like a cliff fell on me." He'd meant it to sound off-handed, wry, hoping to get Gaius to smile without pushing his luck, but instead grief came into the old man's eyes.

"We almost lost you."

Merlin could never stand to see him upset. He reached out, laid one tentative hand – the unbandaged one - on the physician's knee, patted it, trying to show in touch just how much he regretted worrying him. "I'm sorry, Gaius. You know if there were any other way…."

"I know but it was a very near thing." Gaius's own warm hands covered Merlin's. "Try not to do it again for at least another week or so."

"I'll try." Careful of the stitches on his face and the poultice covering it, Merlin sent him a half-smile, hoping to lighten Gaius's worry. He knew that the physician was not saying just how damaged he was, not that he couldn't figure it out with the amount of bandages on his body, at least those he could see or feel. It looked to him like they'd torn up a bed sheet or two or ten. Plus there was the pull of skin as he moved and the flares of pain skittering along his arms and leg, never mind his chest which still ached more than a little bit when he breathed that didn't speak well of his injuries. At least the need for a chamber pot had gone. Likely they'd taken care of him while he was still unconscious.

Thankfully, his mind was clear, although sleep was trying to drag him back down into the dark. He fought it. He needed to know what had happened, if everything he'd done for Arthur and for his people had been enough. "Is Arthur alive? Where am I? What are you doing here?"

"The king is well enough. A few injuries although nothing like your own." Shaking his head, Gaius sent him a fond, exasperated look. "Arthur sent for me. One of his men came to the Isle asking for help. Said some idiotic sorcerer - although he didn't exactly use those terms, had got himself injured. It was a brave thing to do considering the circumstances."

He gave Merlin's hand a little squeeze and let go. Reaching over past the top of the cot, he placed a bowl of mushy something, it smelled like gruel laced with honey and a few things Merlin couldn't identify, onto his lap and began spoon-feeding it to him. The texture was awful and the honey barely masked the bitter taste of the medicine but Merlin knew better than to protest.

"Only you, Merlin." As he swallowed it down, trying not to grimace at the taste, Gaius said, "We are at Arthur's camp. I didn't want to move you until it was safe."

Cooperation, Gaius at Arthur's camp and no sound of battle. It would seem that they were talking at last. Swallowing another mouthful, Merlin said, "Is there a truce?"

"Yes, because of you, we have a truce and in time there will be a treaty." A genuine smile this time, full of jubilation and fond pride and underneath it all, the elation of profound relief. "You are a wonder, Merlin."

So it had been worth it after all. Joy, euphoria, a thousand other emotions bubbled under his chest; he wanted to shout for the brilliance of it. It made him giddy. He sent Gaius an exultant grin, one pulling at his wound but he was so full of high spirits he didn't care. "I thought I was an idiot."

Gaius matched him, joy for joy. Laughing, he said, "Yes, there is that, too."

And then he shoved another spoonful of gruel into Merlin's mouth.

* * *

Merlin had slept and woke and slept again, the medication keeping him drowsy but he was feeling better than he had in ages when Arthur appeared.

In the days since everything had gone to hell and back again, Gaius kept him company, fussing about, trying to fatten him up with that disgusting gruel and in general keeping him up to date on what was going on with the peace talks. He'd had major injuries: broken ribs, the cut on his face opened and festering for a while, others on his head and legs, deep burns on his shoulder, arms and hand, a concussion. For a while, Gaius despaired of the fever that had raged for a day and a night but Merlin was stronger than he looked and he was getting better, if slower than he'd like. The ribs were the most dangerous and it would be unlikely that he'd be moving about much before six or more weeks would pass and they healed properly.

He'd had a few visitors, Brene and Dryas from the Isle. Talisen came once, too, although he didn't stay long; his eyes were still too full of grief. Even Geraint had come to see him, thanking him for saving Arthur's life.

But there was only one person he really wanted. Arthur had been in and out of the tent - it was his after all, but he'd done nothing more than stand there by the alcove's entrance, an unreadable look on his face, not saying anything but nodding when he realized Merlin was awake. Then he'd mutter something about treaties and Merlin getting better and he'd turn away and disappear out the door.

Merlin knew that the truce was going well and they were hard at work with a treaty but he'd have liked Arthur's company, selfish though it was. He could hear the man sometimes, talking softly with someone just beyond the cloth wall or groaning in his sleep, an unhappy, pained sound that made Merlin want to comfort him somehow.

Not sure if Arthur was just busy or actively avoiding him, he had to admit that it was a relief to see him again.

The king looked tired, a bruise marring his cheek and there was a limp there, not that Merlin had been awake enough to notice before. Arthur stood by the entrance a moment, that unreadable expression back on his face and then he seemed to gather himself together and smiling, walked over to Merlin's cot.

"You've looked better." Once long ago when they were both young and foolish, that might have been the opening salvo of an argument between master and manservant. So long ago.

"So have you, my lord." He started to get up, elbowing himself higher, wincing as he did so but Arthur just motioned him down again. With a grateful sigh, he fell back into the pillows. There was a fleeting look of worry in the king's eyes but it was gone so quickly that Merlin thought he might have imagined it. "I want to thank you for saving me. If you hadn't thrown that sword, we'd both be dead right now."

Arthur shrugged off the praise. "Yes, well, anyone else would have done the same."

They both knew that wasn't true but Merlin wasn't willing to challenge him on it. Arthur had always downplayed his role in doing what was right, even when the cost had been high. Apparently that had not changed over the years. Merlin found the thought oddly comforting.

But Arthur must have had something else on his mind. He seemed troubled, kept looking at all of Merlin's bandages, at the blistered skin peeking out from the loose robe Gaius had given him, at the stitches on his face. Then when the king realized he was being watched, he flushed and looked away. "Your skills in magic… I've never seen the like."

Whatever was upsetting Arthur, it was clear they wouldn't be discussing it any time soon. So Merlin let it go. Instead, wanting the king to understand what had happened, wanting him to know the price for such power, he said, "What I did to Nimueh, yeah, it's dangerous. It can kill the one casting the spell if they aren't careful."

Sharp, angry, at what Merlin couldn't tell but Arthur was having none of it. "And yet you used it against her."

"I thought I was going to die and at least that way you would live even if I didn't." It wasn't as if he had a choice, not a choice that he could accept anyway.

"So my life is worth more than yours, then?" Frowning, his mouth flattening as if the concept had left a bitter taste, Arthur folded his arms across his chest. Emphatic and more than a little angry, he said, "My father would have agreed with you but I do not. I don't want your sacrifice, Merlin."

"Sometimes, my lord, sacrifices are made without your permission. Sometimes, they are even worth it."

Merlin knew that he'd do it again, a hundred times, a thousand times if necessary, no matter what the king said. Perhaps, though, Arthur needed to be reminded of just who had been willing to sacrifice himself for a mere servant, all those years ago.

"Someone I admire very much taught me about sacrifice." Tilting his head, looking at Arthur defiantly, daring him to disagree, Merlin said, "At Gedref."

Arthur seemed taken aback at that, blinking down at Merlin for a moment and then conceding the point, his mouth twisted as he tried and failed to hide an amused smile. "Sometime the people you admire are fools."

"Sometimes." Merlin's face serious as he said it and then he sent Arthur a pleased grin.

Arthur choked back a laugh, shaking his head, smiling down at him. "Idiot."

His eyes were full of such warmth and it was almost as if Merlin had never left. This was what he had missed. So long since he and Arthur had talked like this, playing with words and ideas, insults and easy affection. He never wanted it to stop.

"Perhaps, sire, but it takes one to know one." He sent Arthur another grin, and a lift of eyebrows he'd learned from Gaius.

This time, Arthur did laugh, short and sharp. "Merlin, you are really a total buffoon, you know." He shook his head, still amused, still smiling, still staring down into Merlin's eyes, looking as if his life had suddenly turned around and he'd found something he thought he'd lost forever, and then he shook himself free of it and the smile slid away. His gaze, too, faltered and he looked off into some unknowing distance, shutting Merlin out.

"The witch, Nimueh, she… she lied about so many things." Arthur's voice seemed as far away as his thoughts and it was harder somehow, Uther's voice.

"Yes, she did but not in the end." Merlin said carefully. He had to wonder if Arthur would ever forgive him for that: for running away, for letting him think he was with Nimueh for all those years, for lying to him so many times, for hiding all that he was. "I was never her accomplice, no matter what she'd said."

Flinching, Arthur turned his gaze back to Merlin's, a look of shame on his face. "I know that now." He turned away again, just for a second, let out a long breath and then seemed to shake himself, faced him squarely, resolute. "I am sorry for ever doubting you."

"You had reason to doubt. I'd lied to you from the very beginning."

All the uncertainty, all the pain and loneliness over the years of exile, the regret, the anger at himself for being such a coward and letting whatever they had between them be destroyed by Nimueh's lies, the desperation for Arthur to understand came spilling out.

"I hated it. Every day I thought about telling you but I was so scared. You hated magic and I thought if you knew you'd hate me, too. If I had just trusted you a little more, this might never have happened."

Arthur leaned down, instinctively reaching out to him and then he must have realized what he was doing because he pulled back and stood there, looking as uncertain as Merlin had ever seen him. "Merlin, we both have regrets."

"I lied to you." He shook his head, trying to put into words the destiny he'd always felt, from that first moment they'd met, much as he'd fought it in the beginning, much as he denied it. All the trials and horrors they'd faced together and apart and underneath it was a bond as strong as time itself.

"I've always been yours, Arthur, whether you knew it or not. Your servant, your friend or anything else you needed me to be. I will be until the day I die."

Arthur looked stunned. Obviously, he hadn't expected such a vow or the emotion behind it. For a moment, he just stood there, gaping down at Merlin. Then he seemed to shake himself clear of whatever he was thinking and typical Arthur, ignored the sentiment and went for the insult. "You were a terrible manservant. One of the worst ever."

He had been around Arthur long enough to know what was being conveyed underneath the words. No matter how much the king might want to say, it was almost impossible for him to say it, especially something from the heart. Arthur sounded serious but his eyes were daring Merlin to fight back.

So, of course, he did. "Prat."

Fleeting, a snicker, quick laughter and then the amusement faded away. Arthur was serious, seemed resigned to it when he said, "A king can't have friends."

That was Uther talking. Merlin refused to accept it; he would not let Arthur be such an idiot. "But a peasant from Ealdor can have one, even if he is a royal pain in the arse."

The insult hit and Arthur's eyes flashed, seeming to enjoy the first strike of another battle of wits. "You know you can't talk to me like that."

Looking thoroughly innocent, his face mock-stupid, Merlin didn't have to say a word, just lay there, waiting for Arthur to concede the point.

He didn't have to wait long. Arthur would never say it but that noisy exhale, surrender in the way his eyes narrowed and the twist of his mouth, was all that was needed. Merlin grinned back, so widely that the stitches in his cheek pulled against him and he winced at the pain but it didn't matter. It had been worth it.

Folding his arms across his chest, trying to look stern and failing miserably, Arthur said, "You are a very stubborn man, Merlin. But if you hadn't been, we'd be at war right now."

"The truce will hold?" It sounded like everything they had fought for would end in peace after all.

"Yes, I believe it will." Arthur nodded, then looked around and pulling up a stool, sat down next to Merlin. No insults now, the king looked determined, ever inch a ruler of Camelot. He came right to the point. "When we finally have a treaty, I'll be needing a magical advisor to the court. Do you have any suggestions as to who that might be?"

The sharp disappointment that Arthur hadn't asked for him stung - brutally if he'd admit such things to himself but he shoved it aside. It was a ridiculous thought, anyway. Merlin knew that he'd had no experience at such things. It was a wonder they had sent him at all to Camelot, although in hindsight, Nimueh's manipulations stood out clearly. But if Arthur was asking him for names, he would be glad to help.

"Oh, okay, yeah." He glanced down at his bandaged arm, at the fine linens clutched in his hands, tried to appear as if he were thinking seriously about Arthur's request when all he was trying to do was hide his misery. "You've already met the best of them. Talisen would be the most logical choice but I don't think he'd agree to go. Dryes is a peacemaker and intelligent but Brene is more practical so I'd say she should be the one to ask."

Finally, he looked up, sent Arthur a little smile and a shrug as if to say that he'd given him the best advice he could and others would give him better.

But Arthur just stared at him, apparently waiting for more names and when none came, he said, "Your name isn't on that list."

Hope blossomed in his chest, overtaking even the still-rattling pain there. Arthur wanted him after all. Trying not to laugh for the sheer joy of it, trying to remember that he'd be a very bad choice, especially considering the others and that it would only make things so much worse, he said, "I'd be terrible." When Arthur opened his mouth, looking like he was about to argue with Merlin, he just shook his head. "Remember – the worst manservant ever. We'd argue and I'd be stubborn and you'd be pig-headed and it would be a disaster."

Arthur seemed to consider all he said, nodding as Merlin stumbled on and on about how terrible he'd be. "I agree. That's why I've asked your council to appoint you as their representative."

Obviously, the man must have had quite a knock on his head during the fight with Nimueh. He couldn't be serious.

"But Arthur, I'd…." Merlin was honoured but he knew it wouldn't work. The sorcerer's council alone would raise so many objections that it made him dizzy just thinking about it.

"If I listened to you all those years ago instead of believing the worst, none of this would have happened." His hand rested on Merlin's shoulder, squeezing a bit, wordlessly urging him on for a moment and then let go. "I should have listened, Merlin."

"I'll be a terrible advisor. I'll be clumsy and stupid and…." He wanted to say yes, oh, so much but it was ludicrous.

"Nothing new there, then." Another insult, quick and warm. Arthur seemed to be enjoying his discomfort.

He should have known better than to argue when the king was being stubborn. But he gave it one last try to make him see reason. "I'll muck things up."

"Merlin, I want you to come. I'll need someone who will argue with me and fuss and be a pain in the arse, as you so delicately put it." He tried to look offended but it was pretty much impossible when Arthur was smiling down him like that. "Who better than you?"

"It's a terrible idea. Your councillors will object. The sorcerer's council will object." Merlin's protest sounded weak, even to him but it seemed to take Arthur aback.

Frowning, looking as if it suddenly occurred to him that Merlin might be serious, he seemed almost hurt by the idea. He said flatly, "Don't you want to come back to Camelot?"

A long, long sigh and Merlin gave up. He could never really deny Arthur anything anyway. "I want nothing else."

That annoying smirk, the one he'd seen all too often when Arthur was about to get him into trouble, the one to which he'd never been able to say no, appeared. "Then say yes."

He'd missed that smirk. But he didn't want to surrender too fast. It might give the prat ideas. "If I do, I'm not mucking out the stables or doing your laundry or cleaning your room or…."

The man snorted, actually snorted at him, talked to him as if he were an idiot. "The title is advisor, not manservant. Which you were terrible at, by the way."

Merlin ignored him. He knew if he didn't get everything out into the open now, Arthur would push and push and be a royal pain in his backside. "And I'll wear my own clothes, not some horrible outfit you think up just to make me look like a fool and a hat out of some kind of fiendish nightmare. You've done that one too many times and I won't have it."

"The hat was perfect." Arthur had the nerve to be affronted.

Merlin just glared back at him. "That hat should be torn into a million pieces and burnt."

Hot glares blistered between them, both staring at each other, refusing to give way and then it was Arthur that surrendered. Throwing his hands into the air, looking at Merlin as if he were some kind of a crazed idiot and Arthur a wise and noble king for putting up with him, he said shortly, "Fine, we'll just put in the treaty that the great and wise Merlin doesn't have to wear a hat, all right?" His eyes narrowed, staring straight into Merlin's eyes, pushing like he always did. "Say yes."

Merlin couldn't help it. He laughed, feeling such a rush of warmth for the prat that there were no words to describe it. Brilliance, a radiance that transcended even the euphoria that magic could bring.

"Yes."

Arthur's face lit up. "Good, because I've already told them that you'd agree."

Leaning forward, he put his hands gently behind Merlin's back, supporting him, lifting him up slightly, and began to stuff pillows behind him, fluffing them expertly as he talked. "Come on, then. You've lazed about long enough. Gaius said that it was time for you to start moving anyway. We'll sit you up – carefully so that you can see what is going on and I'll get the rest of them. They can sit around the table over there and you can watch and listen this time and when you feel better, I'm sure you will be driving them crazy with your usual nonsense. Besides, it's time to show them you aren't a good-for-nothing slugabed, and the worst manservant ever in the history of manservanting."

Finished, looking down at his handiwork, Arthur nodded satisfaction. "We can't have treaty negotiations without my new court advisor to advise me, now can we?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Merlin was surprisingly comfortable but he couldn't let all that fussing pass. "Prat."

"Idiot." Arthur was smiling, so relaxed, his eyes full of warmth, all bustle and relief, as joyous as Merlin had ever seen him. With one final glance toward him, the king walked out the door, already calling for the council to reconvene.

Shaking his head, Merlin leaned back into the pillows, exhausted but content.

It finally sunk in. Destiny or fate or a dragon's mad ravings, it didn't matter. After years and heartache and bone-deep loneliness, he was finally going back to Camelot.

He was going home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ábríeteaþ cleofu." = Destroy the cliff.  
> "Bregdan snyringas!" Move sharp rock.  
> "Onswífaþ!" = Push away.  
> "Wælfýr, tóbræde!" = Deadly fire, multiply.  
> "Stormas,onge. Líeg, tóbræde! Ábíete híe. Ábríeteaþ hie. Forþádilge hira feorhgiefa." = Storm approach. Lightning, multiply. Strike them, destroy them. Bring to nothing their life-gift.


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of explicit male/male interaction.

_6 months later…._

"Merlin, haven't you finished yet?"

Arthur was already a few steps into the laboratory, his face sharp-frowned, as agitated and discontented as a wounded bear, muttering sharply when Merlin said, "Not now, Your Majesty."

Arthur didn't look happy about it but he must have seen the glow of elixirs forming, must have realized that Merlin was in the middle of a spell. And even he knew it was never wise to interrupt when magic was being used.

It could backfire spectacularly.

The walls in the back of the lab were _still_ covered in green slime from last week's experiment, much as Merlin had tried to clean it up. Arthur had shouted at him for some reason without thinking about it first, prat that he was, and the resulting mess had been distinctly unwelcome. Luckily, it wasn't dangerous and Merlin knew the stains would disappear eventually. But still the damage had been done.

At least today Arthur stood there, waiting silently, even if he was loud in the way his arms folded over his chest and his eyes flashed in impatience.

Still, perhaps next time Merlin was using magic, he should just bolt the door and put up a big sign that said 'keep out and that means you, Your Majesty'.  Not that it would stop Arthur when he wanted something.

He had to admit that these days Arthur was certainly persistent about wanting things from Merlin – just not the kind of personal things Merlin wanted to give him, unfortunately.

"I'm almost done." As he glanced up, Arthur was already wandering about the room, touching the pots Merlin used for potions, a few drying herbs rustling under his fingertips, his sword-hardened hand skimming the delicate glassware and then brushing across the wooden table, irritated. "Sire, try not to break anything."

Damn, he was beginning to sound like Gaius and wasn't that an uncomfortable thought.

It was like having a storm cloud in the room.

Merlin tried not to sigh. He understood, though, why Arthur was there. The king must have come straight from another all-too-long council meeting. Arthur had sent word hours ago that there had been illness sweeping through the lower town and he'd expected Merlin to come up with solutions just as he had the time before and the time before that.

Never reticent about demanding Merlin's time or his magical talents or whatever else he deemed necessary for the good of the realm, he'd always insisted as prince the things due his station, and now as king, it was expected that Merlin would obey.

Not that Merlin did all the time. But now, more than when they first clashed, he was willing to concede a point or two as long as Arthur wasn't being an idiot.  Luckily for both of them, the idiocy was showing up less and less.

It was still there, of course, the idiocy lurking below the surface and popping up when Merlin least expected it but so far it hadn't shown up today – at least not yet.

Besides, he was glad to help the people of Camelot, even without the king's fuming impatience. It made him feel wanted and needed and useful, more than just an advisor on a council that still had questions about his competence or his magical powers, more than as a sometimes although not always acknowledged friend. 

But Arthur mystified him; Merlin was always at sea with the confusing signals the king sent him, keeping him close one instant and then closing him off the next. Sometimes it was just too hard to keep up.

Damn his signals.

Merlin had pushed aside his own desires long ago. Much as it had pained him, at the Isle, he'd tried to forget the lingering looks they used to send each other in the heady days before Merlin had left. It had begun to heat after Ealdor but not enough to boil over into something more. And when the disaster with Nimueh had all but destroyed Merlin's life, he'd given up hope and buried whatever he felt for the man deep inside, locking it away, trying not to remember how much he'd lost. It had only added to his misery in that prolonged exile.

He'd been glad enough that Arthur welcomed him back. He'd hoped for more but with every passing day, it would seem that hope was in vain, no matter how much he might long for it.

Of course, it didn't help that his heart raced every time he was around the prat, his body ever traitor. Hope was a cruel mistress even when there was none, especially when there was none. But there was no use going down that path. It would only bring heartache.

Shaking off the sudden melancholy, he filled the last of the vials and ignored the thoughtful frowns Arthur was sending him; it was shaping up to be a keeping-my-sorcerer-at-bay kind of day and Merlin really wasn't up to it just now. Walking over to the door, he handed the medicine to the waiting guard who would deliver it to the physician in the lower town. Hopefully the illness there would disappear quickly. Instructions, a nod of thanks and as he turned back, closing the door, he was already saying, "My apologies, sire. It was trickier than I thought. Gaius would have had it done in half the time but you'll just have to put up with me, I'm afraid."

But as he glanced up, he could see Arthur standing there, his eyes intense, so focused on Merlin that it brought a blaze of warmth to his face. If he didn't know better, he would have said there was desire lingering in his gaze.

As he stared back, the king suddenly blinked, shook his head, and turned away, looking out the window, distant again. "I'm sure it will be fine, Merlin. Gaius has faith in you and you have not failed once in the months since you returned to Camelot."

Pure, impersonal, a king talking with his sorcerer-servant. Obviously, Merlin was seeing more than was there. Obviously, he was mistaken as he had been about so many other things and those damned mixed signals confusing him.

Tamping down his own desire, knowing that it was something that would be forever unspoken, something he'd have to deal with later in the aching loneliness of his room, Merlin said, "Thank you, sire. If the elixir doesn't work, let me know and I'll try something else."

But Arthur wasn't even listening. While Merlin was talking, he picked up one of the sealed bottles on the window ledge, and began turning it over and over again in his hand, frowning down at it. It was probably a good thing that it wasn't a dagger in his hand or else Arthur would be digging away at the stonework as he was wont to do when troubled.

Whatever could be bothering the man? The fact of the matter was that Arthur had been on edge for a while now, mostly around Merlin, and especially when they were alone. It didn't seem that he was afraid of Merlin necessarily; it was something else, but Arthur refused to talk about it, hiding behind excuses and responsibilities and insults.

The man was damned confusing, always had been.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sire?" Merlin said, watching him for a moment, then worried that Arthur would drop the bottle and he'd have yet another mess to clean up, he walked over to him, one hand open and waiting. "Sire, the bottle?"

Arthur glanced down at Merlin's fingers, then at his own, and careful not to touch Merlin, dropped the glass into his hand.  It was still warm, Arthur's warmth. "While you were here working on a cure, Lord Elred and his followers used your absence as an opportunity to object to some of the rules that we'd agreed to in the treaty. I thought you should know that I've persuaded him and the rest of the council to see reason."

In the months since the ban on sorcery had been lifted, Arthur had been forceful and decisive in council and among his people, laying down clear rules and cutting off any argument hinting of a return to Uther's laws. He'd been reasonable, even brilliant at times and Merlin could see how ruling Camelot had steadied him.

All those years ago, he'd seen the beginnings of a great king. When Arthur had inspired Merlin's village to fight Kanen, his speech ringing in the meeting house and the people shouting in reply, it had sent a shiver down his back. Destiny, it had the ring of destiny even then. Now that greatness was forming fast and Merlin tried not to smile at the beauty of it.  

Merlin put the bottle down next to him, said carefully, "Any particular rule that he wanted to change?"

"The one about allowing sorcerers to mingle with the rest of the population. He wants to keep those with magical abilities separate and away from everyone else. He felt that they should be allowed into the palace only under guard." Arms crossed as Arthur leaned up against the wall, he looked relaxed enough, seemingly confident that he'd prevailed against Elred's objections.

"Not unexpected. I'm surprised it took him this long." Merlin knew that something like this would come up eventually. They'd been changing laws that were decades old. He didn't think the fear would disappear with a few words on parchment. It would take a long time and patience. 

But Arthur was still upset; that was obvious enough. His face tightened, a sudden scowl there and his mouth was twisting in distaste. He said flatly, "He also objected to magic users, specifically the court advisor of magic, _fraternizing_ with the nobility, specifically the king."

So they were trying to cut him off from any contact with Arthur. For a brief moment, he wondered if they knew, if they realized just how much he cared about Arthur, loved him. He'd tried to keep it hidden, to give no one reason to believe he was anything but a sorcerer helping to build a bridge between their two peoples. But sometimes, sometimes he could feel his façade slip and his devotion become clear. If others knew or Arthur knew and was disgusted by it, he'd be exiled soon enough. He tried not to let his worry show.

"Oh."

"Is that all you have to say?" Shoving away from the window, Arthur started to pace, his hands waving in a kind of furious dance as he moved around Merlin's chamber. He was clearly incensed, either by the thought of them together or else by the manoeuvres of his court. "It is an insult to you and to me."

Swallowing around the misery lodged in his throat, Merlin tried to sound reasonable. "He thinks I will put you under a spell and make you my puppet."

"This is no laughing matter, Merlin." Arthur glared at him, his jaw bunching in anger.

"I'm not laughing, sire." Breathless with unease, it took a moment before Merlin could say, "It's been done before in other kingdoms and his fears do have some basis in fact."

When Arthur was angry enough, he could be almost overwhelming. He stalked over to Merlin, towering over him – which was hard to do considering he was the shorter of the two, nearly spitting with temper. "I won't have them dictating my life."

"Arthur, he's right to be cautious. For your sake and Camelot's."

Throwing up his hands, Arthur started pacing again. "I know that but they have no right to insult my honour or yours."

Merlin had to back up, out of his way, and clumsy as ever, he knocked against the table, sending several glass bottles spilling onto the floor. A sharp ting of glass breaking, and as Merlin glanced toward him, Arthur was looking both sheepish and defiant. There was glass everywhere and where the liquid had spilled, the stone was stained a bright yellow. Merlin clucked softly at the ruins, and bending down, whispering a spell under his breath, the shattered bottles disappeared and a cloth began to mop up the rest of the mess. 

At least it stopped the shouting. Arthur sent him another glare. "You are unbelievable sometimes. Are you always this clumsy?"

"Just one of my many gifts." Merlin tried to smile, hoping to cool Arthur's temper.

"So that's what you call it?" But the king just shot him a look that spoke of disbelief, then gave a little chuckle as he rolled his eyes. "You really are an idiot."

Merlin's smile grew wider. "So I've been told."  

Arthur's grin didn't last long but at least he had calmed. Pushing a large pile of manuscripts off a chair and onto the floor, he sat down and watched him as Merlin sputtered with annoyance. Arthur didn’t have to say a thing; a lift of one eyebrow and a finger pointing to empty bookshelves and Merlin busied himself cleaning up, at least enough to gather up the papers again and clear off another chair. He hadn't had enough time to tidy up recently. The prat was always keeping him busy with one thing or another. 

Once Merlin settled down, facing him, Arthur leaned forward, elbows on his legs, his hands clasped together, staring at him. The king, ever his friend, sounded determined, flat, and final. "I will not have my choice of friends questioned by them."

Sometimes Arthur could be such a prat and other times, like now, Merlin just wanted to hug him – not that the king would allow such a thing. That he'd feel so strongly about Merlin's place at his side made up for all the uncertainty Merlin had been feeling these last few months, almost made up for the loneliness of his room or the careless insults that sometimes hurt more than he'd care to admit. 

So he'd do whatever he could to remain there, to help the king even if it was only as an advisor. "Arthur, they don't trust me and since you seem to, they worry that I'm influencing you too much."

"They will just have to get used to it," Arthur said tartly. Then puzzled, as if he'd just thought of something uncomfortable, as if he'd made a very large mistake and only now was realizing it, he sat back, frowning at Merlin. "Unless… unless you would prefer more distance."

Horrified that Arthur would even think such a thing, Merlin leaned forward, instinctively reaching out to touch him and let him know just how much he didn't want more distance, that he wanted to be closer, not further away.  His hands were suddenly resting on Arthur's knees, the beginnings of his thighs, fingers gripping tight, never to let go. The man's warmth sent a shudder shock through Merlin's skin.

"No! No, I told you before. I'll be glad to be your friend or whatever else you need me to be until the day I die."

Blinking at him, looking down at Merlin's hands clutching him there and then back up into his eyes, Arthur seemed shocked or confused, almost blind-sided. He started to say something, perhaps to berate him for taking such liberties, to reproach him for thinking himself above his station, Merlin wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to wait for Arthur. Stammering out an apology, Merlin pulled away. Clasping his hands together, he shoved them between his knees, squeezing tight.

"Sorry, sire, sorry. I didn't mean…sorry."

There was a slight flush on Arthur's cheek, his breath hitching as Merlin jerked back but he didn't scold him or do anything but frown down at his legs, to where Merlin had been touching him only moments ago. His jaw clenched; it took him a few seconds before he looked back at Merlin.

"It's fine. You were always helping me dress when you were my manservant. Old habits die hard."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Merlin's heart was still pounding and he felt like he was freezing and hot at the same time. The feel of Arthur under his hand, the burning want bubbling beneath his skin and the way Arthur had reacted to his touch only hardened his resolve to keep the love he had for the man secret, impossible as that might be.

Arthur must have realized something was wrong. Merlin was floundering, kept looking down at his hands and he could feel the heat on his cheek. Normally, the king would dive in, insulting him or making fun of his clumsy attempts at manservanting or some other such nonsense, anything to downplay what had just happened.

Instead, he ignored it, saying, "Of course, the council wasn't finished with all their demands. When they were done berating me for being too close to a known sorcerer, to add insult to injury, they started talking about marriage again."

Some of the council, those who weren't opposed to the return of magic to the kingdom, had even approached Merlin, hoping to get him to reason with Arthur. But he knew that when the king made his mind up, it would be nigh impossible to change it. A failing he inherited from Uther.

Not that he wanted to think about Arthur's marriage or the negotiations to bring it about. He supposed it would have to happen sooner or later. He'd support Arthur in whatever bride he chose but still… he didn't want to think about it.

"Oh."

Arthur flashed him an irritated look and his voice was harsh with sarcasm. "Honestly, Merlin, is that all you have to say today? 'Oh'? I need an advisor, not someone sounding like the village idiot."

That was more like the old Arthur. Merlin shrugged, finally calm enough to unclasp his hands, still aching to touch him but under control. He pressed his fingers flat against his thighs, glancing at the king and then away. "It's not unexpected. You must continue the line."

"I'll not be bred like some kind of animal, line or not." Arthur heaved himself out of the chair and began pacing again, his face thunderous.

"Does the idea repulse you?" Merlin didn't want to make things more difficult but it was the first time Arthur had really opened up about the issue. Before, it was shouts and sword-fighting and ignoring the situation. Still it was a fine line he walked. He wanted to make sure Arthur was happy whatever he decided, but it cut Merlin's heart to the quick just thinking about it.

"I'd like some choice in the matter." Arthur stopped in the middle of the room, glaring down at Merlin, hands flailing about as he always did whenever he was furious. Agitated, looking like he wanted to kill something right then and there, he snarled out, "But instead, my sex life is talked about in council and is apparently everybody's business."

"You are the king. One of the hazards of ruling, Your Majesty." Not what he wanted to say but Merlin was supposed to be a bloody advisor so, with a damn lump in his throat, he advised.

It only made things worse. Arthur let out a frustrated growl, glaring at Merlin as if he wanted to throttle him, and then he threw up his hands and paced some more, muttering under his breath the whole time. Merlin let him.

He knew that the king needed to release some of the anger that he'd been carrying since the council meeting and grumbling about it was certainly easier than going on one of those damnable hunts. Besides, a hunt would involve a lot of people, including some who wanted Merlin to leave or disappear or die horribly and he preferred pacing to that.

Truth be told, he preferred just the two of them, talking of important things and foolish ones. He preferred to know that Arthur trusted him enough to let Merlin see how upset he was, that there was trust and a willingness to share the burden.

It took a while but finally Arthur calmed down, ended up leaning up against the far wall, looking through the window into the courtyard below. Pensive, his arms folded across his chest, he looked both troubled and resigned.

Merlin came up beside him. "You know I'll support you, no matter what you decide."

He ached to comfort Arthur, a hand on his shoulder, even one of those playful shoves that the king was so fond of, if nothing else than to show that he understood how upset Arthur was but he wasn't sure how it would be perceived, not after the way he reacted just a few moments ago.

Arthur glanced toward him, eyes hooded and unhappy, his shoulders slumping as he turned back toward the window. As he gazed out into the distance, he said, "I told them I would choose a consort only for love. They weren't pleased."

"Oh." That was new – and surprising. The fact that Arthur refused to look at him didn't bode well, either. It was clear he was hiding something, something very personal, something personal enough that he didn't want anyone else to know.

Not wanting to make things worse or to anger Arthur enough that he'd storm away, Merlin said carefully, "Do you have someone in mind?"

He did not want to know the answer, did not want to hear some girl's noble name spoken with warmth or desire or helpless devotion. But he'd promised long ago to be whatever Arthur needed him to be and if it was only as a friend, then he would be.

"And if I did?" Another sharp reply, daring Merlin to say something, to offer solace or question who it was, maybe even offer up a name. "I certainly would not tell those jackals. They'd insist on finding me someone more suitable, have me look further afield if necessary. As if distance had anything to do with it."

Then Arthur did have someone in mind.

Merlin couldn't feel his heart any more; there was too much pain lodged there but another part of him was already trying to think of who it could be – Olaf's daughter or Lot's young cousin or even one of the knights' sisters. They were always fluttering around the palace, trying to catch the eye of the king, or perhaps one of the women of the lower town. Arthur had said she wasn't suitable.

But thinking about it only made things worse. His throat tight, breathless with lost hope, he felt as if his ribs had shattered again. Even the scar on his face was aching.  Looking down at his feet, frozen and helpless to do anything more than let his dreams go, he said, "Is she not noble enough for them?"

There was a heartbeat's worth of waiting. But when Arthur remained silent, Merlin looked up to find him staring back, his eyes giving nothing away, although the hunched set of his shoulders spoke of heartache.

He could never bear to see Arthur unhappy.

"I could…," Forcing a little smile, heart really not in it but still he wiggled his fingers in the air, one of those stupid signs Arthur was always going on about when they were out hunting - a sign for the use of magic. "I could do a little something."

Arthur's frown twisted into bafflement and he stared at Merlin as if he'd gone mad. Then something must have clicked in that thick skull of his.  Wiggling his fingers just as Merlin had done, mocking him and looking like he was enjoying it far too much, he said, "You do realize you just offered to scare the quail out from underneath the bushes."

"I was talking about magic, you prat." He could remember spells a thousand years old but those stupid hand signals of Arthur were beyond him. Just so much utter nonsense. "You know, magic. Like I did for Lancelot. A patent of nobility for her? You know with an old family going back a century or two or is that too much for you to understand all at one time? I could break it down for you into words of one syllable if you like."

"And you are calling me stupid?  You? With your incomprehensible signals?" Arthur was trying to hide it but there was a lightness in his eyes that hadn't been there before, almost as if he'd welcomed the argument.

Merlin sent him a grin, full of mischief. "Well…."

"Idiot! I don't know why I keep you around sometimes." Giving Merlin a little shove, shaking his head as he did so, it was clear Arthur was fighting hard not to smile.

"Because no one else would put up with you? Most sorcerers would have turned you into a toad already." Grin widening, Merlin did another little dance with his fingers, the same one as before, taunting Arthur, daring him to comment on his pathetic hand signals.

Arthur let out a snort, very unregal; Merlin would have to remember to tease him about it later.

But then as they watched each other, sharing a glance that spoke of closeness and long history and potential, the smile slid away and Arthur turned solemn again. Mouth working as if he didn't know what to say or how to say it, he seemed to gather strength in the lengthening silence. He reached out, put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and gave him a little shake. "I appreciate the offer but it wouldn't help."

"Why? They wouldn't dare to object, even if they knew it was fake." It didn't make sense.

Arthur said softly, almost too quietly to hear, "It's not about nobility or station. It's… impossible." He seemed to realize that he was thinking aloud and he froze, seemingly ashamed of his weakness, aware of just how close they were and how his hand was still resting on Merlin's shoulder. A flick of something behind Arthur's eyes, his face flushing. He pulled away, curled his hand against his leg, almost as if he'd been burnt. "You wouldn't understand. You're not in love."

It was too much. Here Arthur was going on and on about marriage and love and the accusation that Merlin couldn't understand the impossibility of loving someone he couldn't have when that person was standing right in front of him was just too much. Scowling, he snapped, "Who says I'm not?"

"Are you?" Arthur was surprised, the shock of it showing loud on his face. Then confusion followed and somehow he jumped to the wrong conclusion. "It isn't Morgana, is it? Aglain would have your head if he found out."

"Arthur, don't be ridiculous. I'm not in love with Morgana." Arthur really did deserve to be turned into a toad. Sometimes the man was just so impossible that it drove Merlin to distraction. But when the king continued to look at him as if he expected a name, as if he expected Merlin to reveal all his secrets when Arthur had not, the taste of it was bitter betrayal."It's someone else, someone who doesn't know."

"Why?" Arthur sounded almost sorry but Merlin wasn't about to forgive him just yet.

He glared back. "Why am I in love or why haven't I told him?"

"Him?" Arthur sounded as if he hadn't expected that but there was a flare of something in his eyes, too quick for Merlin to see, and then frowning, he turned away, staring down at his boots as if trying to find an answer there.

"Yes, him, Arthur. The heart chooses whom to love, not that it's any of your business."

The sting of Arthur's pig-headed insistence on knowing was still sharp in his chest; it made him furious, made him want to retaliate, made him want to bury his secret under a mile of rock and seal it up and never have to deal with love again.

"Is it someone I know? In the lower town?" Arthur was still staring down at his boots, thoughtful scowl vivid on his face but then he seemed to pull back, making decisions inside that stubborn head of his. He straightened up, started to reach for Merlin again but let his hand fall when he must have realized what he was doing.  Instead, he said more gently, "Is it one of my knights? I could speak to him for you, point out all your good qualities. Maybe give you a dowry."

"I'm not a girl, Arthur." If Merlin hadn't felt so vulnerable, he'd have tempered his reply. It was a generous offer, after all. But he wasn't able to quite let go of his anger just yet. "Leave it. It doesn't matter. I value the friendship too much to muck it up by forcing my attentions on someone who clearly doesn't want them."

Another flash of something in Arthur's eyes, intense, questioning, almost hopeful. "Are you sure he doesn't?"

Merlin's heart sped up. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn that Arthur was interested in more than just friendship. But that was impossible. He'd shown no signs of it in all the time since he had returned to Camelot. Even now, it was probably just Merlin's desires colouring his own perception of things.

"I thought… at one time I thought it was mutual, that we were just waiting for the right moment. But then things went to hell and after that, I put my hopes aside."

"Merlin, let me help you." Arthur was watching him, looking so carefully at Merlin that he felt almost hunted. Then the king sent him a brief smile, nudging Merlin's arm with a brush of fingers, a friend's touch. "At least one of us should be happy."

"I'm fine with the way things are." Merlin nodded. Obviously, he'd been mistaken about what he thought he'd seen in Arthur's eyes. "And you've changed the subject."

"Yes, I'm surprised you noticed." He sounded disappointed.

Sometimes Merlin had no idea of what was going on in that royal head of his. "I'm not as idiotic as you think."

"No, you aren't. Just blind sometimes."

"What the hell does that mean?" Merlin's temper flared again. He felt unbalanced, confused about what Arthur was talking about. It couldn't be that he'd missed signals about how Arthur felt about him, that he cared more than he'd let on.

"If you don't want to talk about it, fine." Arthur was waving his hands again, agitated, furious about something. "As for mine, it doesn't matter. It's not as if my life will be ruined because no one loves me like that."

He couldn't breathe. Surely, Arthur had to know how much Merlin cared for him. Everything he'd done. There was love in every action; even if Merlin had tried to hide it, it had to have been obvious on some level. Shocked, he almost didn't hear the rest.

"A king expects his people to give him respect and that should be enough."

Merlin stood there, gaping at him. He had to get Arthur to see that he was loved, so very much. But he was frozen, still appalled by Arthur's confession. Swallowing against the horror clutching at his throat, he said, "Wh.. what? You are loved."

Arthur turned to him, his arms sweeping across the air, gesturing to the room and out into the courtyard and beyond. His voice rough, vulnerable, despairing, a lifetime of regret in the way he spilled out his secrets.

"Well, you don't see anyone lining up for the honour, do you? Someone who truly loves me for myself and not my crown? Swindlers and parasites, mostly, looking for power. Although there was a whore who said she might do me for a price. She was honest, at least."

Bloody hell, Arthur had no idea, none at all. Merlin's confession was all but pulled from him. "But I love you."

Arthur jerked back, his face thunderous. It was clear he didn't believe him. "Don't lie to me, Merlin." He pushed past him, his body stiff with fury, stalking away toward the door. "I have to get back. The council want to have another go at me this afternoon. Hopefully, they will see reason or I might have to dismiss the lot of them."

Merlin stumbled after him, reaching for him, all the while babbling, "Arthur, I do love you. You…."

"I value your friendship. More than you know. Sometimes, it's even enough. But I don't need you trying to fix things and I certainly don't want your pity." Arthur was standing by the door, miserable, as agitated as Merlin had ever seen him, face flushed with embarrassment and disappointment and anger, his eyes wild. "And don't go around my back cooking up bloody love potions. It's not real and I won't have it."

"Arthur…" He was clutching at him, his hands grabbing onto Arthur's arms, desperate as the king struggled to free himself, trying to get away. But a trained warrior would have had him bloodied and broken in a few seconds and Merlin was still alive when he pulled Arthur close. "Oh, hell with it."

As a kiss, it was terrible, graceless and messy; his nose hurt from where he'd bumped up against Arthur's cheek and the man was still struggling to get away. It took Merlin a precious heartbeat to find Arthur's mouth, but when he did, suddenly his brain was on fire and he wanted to dive into that heat, to taste Arthur, melt into him until there was nothing left but bodies writhing in pleasure.

It seemed to go on and on, that exchange of want and warmth, tongues and fumbling hands gripping at him, shivers of lust climbing into his skin. At some point, he seemed to realize that Arthur wasn't fighting him any more, was giving back, was clutching at him, tearing at his clothes, desperately trying to find flesh and heat as they moved. He could feel Arthur's desire in the hard length pushing against his hip and he groaned, so filled with joy that there were no words.

It took a while but finally, he realized that Arthur was pushing him back, hands firmly on Merlin's shoulders and then shoving him away. Shaking his head to clear the pleasure still tingling under his skin, he looked over to see Arthur's reddened mouth, and a deep flush on his face.  Blue eyes, almost black with desire, kept flicking down to Merlin's lips and then back up again to stare into Merlin's own.

Arthur was struggling with something, emotions warring there: despair, lust, love, hunger, and overlaying it all, disbelief.  There was the sound of breathing, anger-heavy, air dragging in and out as Arthur tried to calm himself. "What was that, Merlin?" Another breath, longer now and full of fury. "I don't want pity, least of all from you."

"You really are an idiot. You think that was about pity?" Merlin couldn't help matching Arthur's fury with his own.

"What the hell else could it be?" Arthur was yelling, arms waving like some kind of deranged fool, unable to see what was right in front of his eyes.

The damned prat was going to understand how Merlin felt if it killed him. Their friendship was already in ashes, anyway.

Hands clenched at his side to keep from shaking the nonsense out of the fool, he snarled, "Arthur, I've wanted this for years. Wanted you for years. Loved you for as long as I can remember. But I hid it because I thought you didn't want me."

Arthur was looking at him as if he had two heads and was about to spit fire or something, as if he were some kind of stranger that had insulted him and Arthur was only now deciding what to do about it, as if he were going to toss Merlin out for good, exile him forever for daring to love a king.

Merlin knew he'd never win, not if Arthur only saw an enemy. Abruptly, he couldn't do it any more, misery crashing into where joy had been only moments ago. He looked down, shoulders already hunching in. "If… if that's true, if you don't want me or this, then just say so and we'll forget it ever happened." When silence followed, Merlin said, "Or I could leave."

Shaking himself free of whatever had held him captive, Arthur reached out to Merlin, held onto him with a steel grip. His voice sounded strange, rough and low, quiet. "No, I don't… don't go. I thought… well, I thought I was alone in feeling this way."

"I guess we've both been idiots, then." Arthur's hand was like a brand against him, blood-hot, sending his body signals of want and need and love and Merlin had to look down at it, pale against his blue tunic, and try not to melt into his touch.

He thought Arthur might mock him again; the man had never been comfortable with revealing his heart, but Arthur surprised him. "I've never loved another."

Covering Arthur's hand with his own, he said, "Nor I."

He felt brilliant, like flying or bursting into flames and lighting up the world. Felt like shouting or doing whatever troubadours do when writing of love; he knew he'd be mocked for eternity if he told Arthur but still, the feeling made him as giddy as those girls he was always being compared to. 

"The council won't be pleased." Arthur reminded him, "Too much power, they'll say, too much influence." And as he was talking, his hands started to pull at Merlin's tunic, loosening the ties, mouth dipping into the hollow of Merlin's throat as skin began to be revealed. 

His heart was beating fast and he seemed to have lost all reason, finding it hard to think with Arthur so close. He forced himself to say, "Is this wise, then? It might be better to… oh… um, wait?"

Arthur was chuckling against the soft spot behind Merlin's ear, sending little shivers down his back. "Do you want to wait?"

"Oh… um… no?" Some advisor he was. All reason had flown away with the heat of Arthur's touch, especially when he was pulling Merlin's tunic over his head and his hands went exploring. His skin pebbled, arching into Arthur's busy fingers and it was fire and ice, pleasure spreading down, down with every beat of his heart.

"My idiot," Arthur said softly. Merlin would have sputtered his objection any other time but it sounded more like an endearment, a claiming rather than an insult. He could feel every stroke of Arthur's sword-roughened hand; every word breathed across Merlin's skin was another way to drive him mad. "I have a cousin of my father's line. His oldest son, Cador, is just eight. I could foster him here, bring him up as my own."

"Ah… would they agree?" It was growing harder to be coherent. Arthur was superb at drawing out desire and although Merlin could understand him, a part of him wanted the man to shut up and take him already.

"Yes, I believe they would."

And then Arthur's mouth was on his again, more expert than Merlin had ever known but it didn't matter. He felt swallowed up in bliss, turned inside out, desire and longing and love curving along his spine, melting into his skin.   

Hands eager, moulding him, pushing him up the stairs and into the small room beyond. Merlin was tugging at all of Arthur's damnable layers, through tunic and undertunic, and unbelievably, a soft shirt below that. Laces and fastenings that took all of his concentration to untie, newfangled things from Gaul, no doubt, to trip him up and it only made him slower, clumsier if that was possible. Fumbling, too as he was caught up in the taste of arousal under his tongue, caught up in Arthur's heat, and in his haste, he only knotted them into impossibility. 

Arthur was having fewer problems. Merlin's tunic was already on the floor, abandoned, and his undertunic had flown up and away onto the bed. Calloused fingers, so clever, had figured out the laces in Merlin's breeches and they were pooled around his legs, caught on his boots – which they had both forgotten.

He couldn't help it. It was just too ridiculous, him standing there, body hard, his desire obvious and leaking, and yet, the damn boots were in the way. He started to groan, shuffling backwards and collapsing onto his truth-be-told too narrow bed, his legs hanging over the edge, frustrated and aching and giddy.

"Are you always this much trouble?" Arthur stood over him, his eyes flashing amused disbelief. "Wait, don't answer that. Of course you are."

What could Merlin say? It was true. But he had to protest anyway. Desire still hot across his skin, he glared up at Arthur. "I'm not the only one who forgot the…um."

Another claiming kiss and Merlin was breathless with it. Reaching up, trying to drag Arthur down to him, trying to touch every inch of skin he could reach but the prat wasn't cooperating. Instead he pulled back, out of his grasp and pointed down towards the bloody boots.

"Off, now and since you are so bad at removing my clothes and your own…," He put up his hand, Merlin's undertunic dangling from his fingertips. "No, I'll take care of mine, if I can figure out how you managed to knot up all my laces at once. You used to be much better at this. Or has all that inhaling of smoke and magic completely addled your brain?"

Merlin tried not to smile at the ridiculousness of it all. "You try and get those off when some prat is trying to suck out your brain with his tongue."

"Next time, that prat will succeed." Arthur's grin was full of promise and Merlin could hardly wait.

But for now, there was business to take care of.

Gingerly, he leaned down and unclasping the buckles, finally managed to throw off the boots into a pile of dirty laundry by the cupboard. Another moment and the breeches flew in the same direction. Arthur was having less trouble, of course – did the prat have to do everything well?

Miles of skin, golden in the light, a dusting of hair that pointed southward, a nest of curls and standing proud and eager, Arthur's cock, waiting to be touched.

"Do you have oil?" For a moment, Merlin was too caught up in what was about to happen, what he'd dreamed of doing for years, that he couldn't really understand what Arthur was saying. "Oil, Merlin."

Breathless again, he nodded, twisted around and reached across and under his bed for the small flask of oil he'd hidden there all those months ago, when he'd hoped for more than friendship, when he thought Arthur might want him, might love him.

And now those hopes were about to come true.

Showing Arthur the flask, he wasn't surprised when it was torn out of his hand, the seal broken and Arthur sniffing at it, tasting it. "It's just cooking oil, Arthur, not some kind of aphrodisiac," Merlin said half in jest.

Smile turning hungry, Arthur leaned down and nuzzled into him. "Perhaps next time."

Damn it, he would die of want before the night was over.

But while he was struggling not to think about 'next' time, Arthur was already on the offensive. Skin warm as he pushed Merlin down, trapping him, one hand stroking, fingers busy and Arthur knew just how to draw pleasure out of him, his mouth nipped Merlin's skin, marking it, marking him.

Merlin wanted to offer up everything, that he was a willing, fervent sacrifice to Arthur's lust. He wanted to dive into his mouth and never come out but lips and teeth were busy worrying his nipples and then a tongue, hot and wet and so intense started moving, closing in on… oh, hell, who knew Arthur could do that, tasting him, taking him into his mouth and swirling around the head and he blinded by the rising ecstasy, white pleasure firing across his skin, a thousand points of  bliss growing, connecting, throwing him breathless into molten heat.

He was helpless to do anything but beg, hands moving across golden skin, fumbling to bring Arthur along into rapture. Soft hair under his hand and he thrust up and Arthur took him, took him all in. He wanted to wail at the brilliance of it but he was lost, overtaken in a vast spinning universe of agony and pleasure spiralling into fire and light and Arthur.

It lasted an eternity, hunger and want and desire so intense that he thought his heart would burst. And as he fell, came down from that bliss, breathless and exhausted and exhilarated beyond measure, he looked up to see the man he loved smiling, smirking at him, wiping at his mouth.

But Arthur didn't let up. He nuzzled against Merlin's throat, still touching him as though he couldn't get enough and breathing into his ear, he whispered, "I think I like you like this, all helpless and begging me. Makes for a change."

"Prat." But even he couldn't keep the love out of his voice even if it was tinged with shamed indignation. "I wanted our first time to be perfect, for me to last until you… and I'm already undone. I haven't even…." His hand waved in Arthur's direction, the evidence of lust still evident in the hard length nudging Merlin's thigh.

A soft laugh and Arthur said, "My idiot." Merlin lifted his head, dove back into his mouth, tongue shoving into warmth and rising interest. He could taste himself and Arthur, too and he wanted more but Arthur pulled back, smiling, indulgence in his eyes. "We aren't finished yet."

"I'm not sure I can move. I think my bones have melted." Merlin was still hungry, wanted to bring Arthur the pleasure he'd been gifted but he was sinking slowly down, trying so hard to fight off sleep.

"Stay awake, Merlin." He could feel breath against his throat and a nose nuzzling there. Arthur was obviously talented in more than just swordplay and insulting Merlin and giving incredible head and he seemed to enjoy it, stripping off the last of Merlin's barriers, nipping at him in unexpected places, chuckling as Merlin tried to shy away.

But, groaning as his body began to show interest again, sucking on the cords of Arthur's neck, biting down and listening to the hitch in Arthur's voice as he licked over the hurt, telling Merlin that he was enjoying it, his hands were exploring all that glorious skin, his for the taking. Brushing against the soft hair dusting Arthur's chest, his nipples turned hard and peaked. And Merlin played there, rolling them, enjoying the sounds Arthur was making, all moans and chaos. His belly was soft and hard, too, the planes of smooth skin and solid muscle jumping under his busy fingers. For a moment, Merlin thought he might be ticklish there but Arthur distracted him, licking at him and Merlin abandoned the thought. He'd try again later.

More softness at the joint between hip and leg, and the firm meat of his buttocks, just perfect under his hand.

Then the soft hot skin of his cock and so full, so hard with lust and desire, wanting, wanting to be taken, to take, already leaking desire and as Merlin touched him, Arthur jerked, moaning again. Hard breath and his body rigid, he was writhing under Merlin's fingertips.

This is what he wanted, had longed for, Arthur giving himself to Merlin, a surrender that was as much submission as control. Arthur and Merlin, Merlin and Arthur, two sides of the same coin, destiny and love entwined.

But then he couldn't think any more. Arthur was already pulling away, still breathing heavy, his eyes desire-black. "Merlin?" he asked. A thousand ways to ask and all in a single word. 

For once, Merlin didn't need a translation; this was not a hand gesture that was impossible to read, not commands that confused as much as demanded.  Arthur wanted him and Merlin would surrender without thought, without reservation.

Merlin reached down, fingers finding the flask that Arthur had discarded earlier, and unstoppering it, poured oil into Arthur's waiting hands. A little too much in his eagerness and Arthur's mouth quirked for a moment – he'd probably be mocked for it later, and then there were fingers circling the entrance into his body, one breaching him.

An odd sensation. He was used to pushing out, not letting something as hard as fingers shoving in but Arthur was ever forceful, thrusting in deep, deeper, probing for something Merlin had only read about. It was uncomfortable and then okay and then when Arthur had found what he was looking for, pleasure was beginning to shoot up Merlin's spine.

Treasured fingers, clever and hot and rigid and oh how he wanted that again and Arthur was adding more and pushing harder and there was a building of want and desire and sheer lust. He must have been moaning. He was out of breath as Arthur shoved his tongue back into his mouth, hungry, claiming, insistent on finding out just how much pleasure Merlin would bear before he died of it.

Another groan and Arthur was saying something, asking if Merlin were ready and he couldn't even nod, only breathe his consent. And Arthur, intense black eyes boring into his, was pushing in, huge now, bigger than fingers, rigid and hot and ever demanding surrender. 

As he shoved in deeper, Merlin couldn't think anymore. There were only sensations, hunger, pleasure spreading outward, the nerves in his body firing in white heat, building, building, Arthur everywhere, the smell of him, the taste, flame and light and soft groans. Arthur was in his mouth again, tongue insistent, breathless and falling and he couldn't, he couldn't…. 

It wasn't enough; it was everything. The universe exploding in reds and whites and brilliance and for a moment, there was black, too, as Merlin fell.

When he came back into himself, there was still moans, still movement as Arthur kept shoving into him, thrusting, thrusting and Merlin pushed back, falling open under his hand, stickiness and warmth smearing between them.  A moment of breathless anticipation as Arthur's face twisted,  an impossible, heady mixture of pain and pleasure, his mouth drawn back, eyes blazing with want and then they closed as shuddering, he poured himself into Merlin.

There was ecstasy there. Merlin could feel it in the tremble of muscle and the soft groans and the way Arthur breathed all rough and frantic, panting into Merlin's neck, the racing of Arthur's heart beating under his hand. A moment of love and want and satisfaction. A moment of sheer joy.

A second later, Arthur collapsed onto him, prat that he was, all muscle and heavy bone and sweat. He was still breathing hard but as it slowed, he gave out a little sigh, almost unheard and pushed himself off to one side, giving Merlin room to breathe.

It was a small bed after all, barely room for the two of them. It had been enough for Merlin. But joy still sparking under his skin, he realized that he might need a bigger one, after all.

Arthur was smiling, well smirking if truth be told, and he looked supremely satisfied, as if he'd just conquered all of Albion and was revelling in the victory. "Was that perfect enough for you, Merlin?"

When the prat did that, looked all smug and full of himself, Merlin couldn't help but reply, "Hmm, perhaps not quite perfect." But as Arthur started to sputter his indignation, Merlin just smiled, pure mischievousness . "I think we'll have to practice a bit more. Maybe try it again on your bed and on that bear rug you have by the fireplace and the storeroom behind the granary and there's a spot in the stables no one else knows about. We could try it there. Just to make sure we get it right."

A roll of his eyes and Merlin could see that Arthur was trying hard not to smile. "Even I know about the stables."

Merlin said, all mock-solemn, "I bow to your wisdom, oh great prat, the most wise and pratlike of all the prats in the kingdom."

That did it. One hand smacked across the side of Merlin's head, almost a caress although Arthur would never admit to it. "Idiot."

"See, I was right. You are a prat." His voice was full of indignation, but his grin was miles wide.

"My idiot." And when Merlin nodded, Arthur gave him another kiss, hard and spine-melting and achingly good, and then let him go. "I have duties, councils to reprimand, organizing the training for the new knights, and there was a problem at the eastern gate that needs to be looked at. I have to go."

Merlin knew that he'd never have all of Arthur's attention, he was king after all but it was enough to know that Arthur loved him, perhaps more than was wise but it didn't matter. What they had with each other would last a lifetime and beyond.

A gathering of clothes, several aching kisses later, and as he watched Arthur walk out the door, he knew somehow that everything would be alright, that the Great Dragon had told the truth all those years ago. They were two sides of the same coin, Arthur and Merlin, Merlin and Arthur.

They'd found their destiny.

At last.

 

The end

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Merlin and the characters do not belong to me. They are the property of Shine and BBC. This is not for profit.


End file.
